


Hold a Place til' You're Coming Home

by got2ghost



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Communication Failure, Domestic, Drunk Sex, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Injury, Insecurity, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mildly Dubious Consent, Miscommunication, Post-Time Skip, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:53:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27831823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/got2ghost/pseuds/got2ghost
Summary: Ligaments can tear, can be reconstructed, removed and replaced, but they’ll never heal the same way. There’s scar tissue build up that leads to aches, pain, and numbness later on.Kenma thinks relationships are the same way.{complete.}
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Kozume Kenma, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, side BokuAka - Relationship
Comments: 104
Kudos: 348
Collections: HQ Feels (Mostly M or E), Recommendations, Recommended KuroKen Fics





	1. Chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> oh boy this has been such a long time coming! i read [this article](https://www.nytimes.com/2020/02/11/well/family/listening-relationships-marriage-closeness-communication-bias.html) that talked about how the closer people are, the less they'll listen to each other. and then i just could not let the idea go and this happened.
> 
> i could not have done this without my wonderful, patient, fantastic beta, [tae](https://twitter.com/bakchimin). from the bottom of my heart, thank you for spit-shining this into something readable. you've been with it non-stop and your dedication and care and kindness has honestly the best experience of this entire thing. this is just as much your fic as it is mine so thank you for all of your hard work. i don't think i have enough thanks in this entire world to show you my gratitude. i LOVE YOU! additionally, thank you to neens, effie and christy who read very early, very rough drafts of this fjeklajgkwjgw
> 
> title is from mariposa by peach tree rascals

Brazil is a lot like Japan. It’s humid and the sea doesn’t smell different, but there are warmer breezes and people who look different than him— taller, with darker skin. He thinks Japanese sounds too monotonous sometimes, a buzz in his ears. He likes the way Portuguese sounds— bright and colorful, a vibrant rush of words coming out like water, life itself. He likes the way Shouyou speaks it with ease, shifting his hands in a flutter as he orders them two drinks. It still feels surreal to be sitting across from Shouyou while his body isn’t fully awake yet, confused about what time it is. 

Shouyou orders all of the food for them and Kenma tries not to yawn. Shouyou’s excitable energy is contagious at least, enough to bring out a couple of sleepy smiles from Kenma while he talks. Kenma catalogues all the changes in him, since video calls are never quite the same. Other than being tan and bulking up, Shouyou seems more settled, less frenetic. If anything, he takes up even more space with his presence. 

“After this, we can go back to my apartment. I have deliveries to do, so you can sleep in my bed, if you want.”

“Thank you, Shouyou.” Kenma smiles at him, twisting his bangs between his fingers, the split ends fraying the more he twists.

“Yeah, no problem! I was really surprised when you said you wanted to come out here, but I’m glad you came. There’s a lot to do!”

“This is my first time outside of Japan,” Kenma says, hardly believing it himself.

He had never been on a plane before. He was nervous about standing too long in the aisle and shifting over his seat mates to go to the bathroom, so he held it in until he couldn’t take it anymore. They played a movie that he couldn’t pay attention to. The air was tepid like a locker room, and a baby cried for half of the flight. He hated it and he's dreading the flight back.

“Is Kuroo-san going to try and make it after all?” Shouyou asks innocently, the sun glinting off his sunglasses. His eyes are clear, and there’s no motive behind them— no pestering like Akaashi’s voice thick with concern, or Bokuto, or Fukunaga, or Yaku, or Lev. It’s a relief. Shouyou smiles kindly at him, leaning forward to hear what Kenma has to say. It’s loud on the patio of the restaurant, and the ocean roars behind them, but Kenma can hear Shouyou with perfect clarity. 

“He isn’t. He has a lot of work to do,” Kenma says flatly, the way he has for the past year when people ask where Kuroo is, when he’ll get there, how many drinks he’ll need to catch up to them. 

“Does he know you landed safely? It is almost 4 am there, though.”

Kenma nods. “We spoke. He texted me to make sure.” 

> _Kuroo: How was the flight? Did you make it okay?_
> 
> _Kenma: I landed._
> 
> _Kuroo: Okay. Have fun. Tell Hinata I’ll kill him if anything bad happens to you._

He hadn’t responded because he knew Kuroo was going to fall back asleep. 

Truthfully, Kenma hadn’t asked Kuroo to come. 

Shouyou’s expressive face can’t hide its surprise and Kenma just smiles again, losing his appetite completely.

Shouyou drops him off at the apartment. His roommate’s awe-struck by him and turns completely silent the moment he walks in. Kenma is frozen by how odd it is to have a fan. He can’t bring himself to make any small talk, so he just nods politely and makes his way to Shouyou’s room to lie down. It’s surprisingly tidy, though there’s a pile of clothes shoved hastily against the closet door like he’d cleaned before Kenma landed. Kenma lies down, his body going slump as soon as he does. All of the exhaustion catches up to him at once but his mind keeps going, rabbit fast.

Kenma checks the weather app. It’s a pleasant 21 degrees. He slides it over to Japan where a cold front has landed. Chance of rain is 88%. He thinks about texting Kuroo to ask if he’s re-filled his medication yet, because Kenma got a call from the pharmacy; but if he does, it’ll only bring up their last argument again, and he’s just too tired to deal with that. He’s sure Kuroo knows. 

He can take care of it on his own.

»

In the morning, Kenma wakes up with a dry throat and nearly rolls off the couch when he forgets where he is. Vaguely, he remembers Shouyou coming home, and waking him up to tell him he could keep sleeping in his bed. Kenma insisted he would move to the couch, and apparently did. There’s a crick in his neck and he rolls up to a sitting position, lifting a hand to greet Pedro who’s tapping on his laptop quietly. Pedro gestures to the old coffee machine behind him. 

“Ninja is at work,” Pedro says in fairly decent Japanese, and then motions again to the dish rack. Kenma nods back at him, glad that Pedro seems to have gotten over his fanboying.

He showers and brushes his teeth and tries not to check his phone when it's almost midnight in Japan, which means that Kuroo is either just now leaving the office or is at some after work function. 

When he comes out and has his coffee, Pedro closes his laptop. “Want to play video games?”

Kenma ends up playing a few levels of FE3H while Pedro watches, a beer in hand. Shouyou comes back from work, full of zest from his bike ride. 

“We haven't eaten,” Pedro comments, so Shouyou makes them a quick and healthy lunch that Kenma takes bird bites of. It’s surprisingly good. If this was a few years ago, Kenma would have politely declined anything he made. 

Afterwards, Shouyou showers, changes and drags him forcibly out of the apartment. “Let’s go sight-see!” 

Kenma can’t object to Shouyou when he feels guilty for crashing on his couch in the first place, so he gets on the back of Shouyou’s delivery bike, squeezes the life out of Shouyou as they zip down narrow streets and busy, honk-filled motorways. They wind down alleyways where Shouyou slows down so that Kenma can catch his breath and appreciate the color murals splashing the walls, vibrant against the backdrop of the rest of the city.

When they round the circle of A-roof Swiss houses, Kenma feels like they’ve entered a different country all together. He takes a few pictures when he remembers to, giving Shouyou half-hearted peace signs for the pictures that Shouyou thinks Kenma will want to send to Kuroo. 

After they come back to the apartment, Kenma falls asleep instantly, too tired to hit the send button.

»

Shouyou’s taken the day off of work to practice for an upcoming tournament. The gym he’s rented out smells familiar, so Kenma feels both safe and uneasy at the same time. Shouyou’s shoes squeak against the wood floor and Kenma watches him spike, then rebound into his defensive spots over and over again with his coach. He ropes Kenma into setting for him a few times, until his arms feel like they’re going to fall off.

After they pack up the net and have a quick lunch, Hinata drags them toward the beach.

“Aren’t you tired?” Kenma asks in absolute exasperation while Shouyou’s eyes gleam, still vibrating to play more volleyball. 

“Not at all! Besides, don’t you want to see _why_ you’re paying me to stay here?” 

Shouyou introduces him to several of his beach volleyball friends and Kenma’s glad for the language barrier, since he’s hitting his quota of interactions for the day. 

“They want you to join us for a game, cause I told them you’re a setter.”

“I don’t know, Shouyou… there’s so much sand.” He winces, feet shuffling in it. He’s thrown off balance when Shouyou pulls him toward the net, laughing, teeth white in the sun as he says something in Portuguese and then turns to Kenma.

“I told them you would."

“Shouyou—!”

Shouyou grins at him like he’s already won and it’s impossible to say no. He groans to himself and kicks off his shoes.

It’s worse playing in the sand than anything else. When he tries jumping, it’s all give, sinking beneath him. Sand flies up, sticking to his legs. It’s too hot in patches, and by the end of the first two scores, he decides to sit out for the rest of the sets, waving Shouyou off as he walks off the makeshift court. A young teen boy ends up taking his place and they restart the score. 

He watches Shouyou play until the sun sits at the edge of the ocean, the waves rippling like orange sherbert. He can feel himself smiling and laughing when Shouyou makes crazy dives or moves lightning fast before others can see him, but his laughter fades when he remembers why he’s here. 

Still, he manages a smile for Shouyou, who comes back with two beers in hand, one for each of them from his win. He sits on the bench next to Kenma, bringing his sweat-smell mixed with sunscreen that’s become familiar to Kenma after only a few days of being here. Shouyou’s shoulder is completely covered by sand and Kenma wrinkles his nose when it brushes against his arm. 

They watch the sun sink together.

“You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think I needed to. Are you okay, Kenma?” Shouyou asks, eyes still on the rolling waves coming in.

“I’m okay,” he says, even though when he thinks about it too long, he feels like he’s dying; even though nothing _is_ wrong. Not a broken bone, not a stomach ache, not even a hangnail. 

“You don’t seem fine,” Shouyou says. “I mean, you just seem… sad. Did you and Kuroo-san break up?”

“No, we didn’t.” Kenma’s mouth parts so he can breathe through the fog of anxiety living in his lungs. “We would’ve had to have talked, to break up.” His eyes sting. He laughs and it sounds awful, even to him. It’s not what a laugh should sound like.

“I see,” Shouyou says, though his eyes say otherwise. Kenma shakes his bangs out, letting the curtain of his hair obscure him to keep Shouyou from looking too closely at him. 

“Nothing is wrong,” Kenma declares, because it’s the truth. His throat feels dry and he licks his lips, trying to pinpoint exactly where the hairline fault is.

He wants to say that things change, but Kenma has never been good with change. Or maybe that things have changed but he doesn’t know what, doesn’t know how to fix it. Doesn’t know how to tell Kuroo he can talk to him. Lately, he’s a trapeze artist about things Kuroo doesn’t want to talk about. He’s never had to strategize entire conversations with Kuroo before— with other people, it’s the norm to plan a conversation until he gets sick to his stomach. When conversation shifts away from the path he was anticipating, it makes him anxious. That’s why he likes video games. There’s predictability and there’s repetition. If he follows these steps, he’ll get to a final ending. So there’s really only a few possibilities, one possibility he’s been ignoring.

“I think he… he’s outgrown me,” Kenma says, very slowly, very quietly. He can’t feel his hands or his body anymore and there’s just a hollow, throbbing pain in his chest that’s made its home there for the better part of two years. He hadn’t even noticed it until it was far too late. Like a parasite. “Maybe he hasn’t realized it yet, but I have. I’ve always— thought he would get bored of me eventually, but then we… have a house together. And now he’s gotten too involved with me, so it’s probably inconvenient— no he… still cares for me, of course. But not in the same way as before. So that’s why. We haven’t broken up.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Shouyou turns his head. “You’re hoping that in the distance, he’ll break up with you?”

Kenma digs his thumbnail into the fat of his palm until it pinches and stings.

His silence is enough of an answer for Shouyou.

“I don’t know Kuroo-san very well, and I don’t know what your life is like day to day, but he wouldn’t do that, I don’t think. Not to you.”

Kenma thinks, _you don’t know Kuroo_. And then he thinks, _I don’t know Kuroo either_.

»

Ligaments can tear, can be reconstructed, removed and replaced, but they’ll never heal the same way. There’s scar tissue build up that leads to aches, pain, and numbness later on. 

Kenma thinks relationships are the same way.

«««

“World Famous Kodzuken, I’m entering,” Kuroo bellows, smirk evident in his voice even without having to look up. Kenma’s boiling water for instant noodles and mumbles a _welcome home_ before Kuroo’s nose presses against his ear, chest warm against his back. This isn’t new, at all, but his heart skips a beat anyways— against his will, he thinks a little grumpily. And against his will, he closes his eyes and leans back with a sigh. Kuroo’s so warm and it’s been so cold, even if Kenma wears two pairs of socks and stays under the kotatsu as much as possible. “That water better be for boiling some vegetables.”

“It’s not,” Kenma says, glancing at Kuroo through the curtain of his bangs. Kuroo chews his lip, thinking about something, cogs almost audible as they spin in his head. He can see the vein in his jaw jumping and thinks about how nervous he’d been for the past two days while preparing for his interview with the Japanese Volleyball Association. 

“How did it go?” Kenma asks, turning to loop his arms over Kuroo’s neck. It’s cheating, just a little, and he smiles to himself when Kuroo’s breath catches. He couldn’t bring it up otherwise, and he knows, vaguely, that things are easier to talk about when he touches Kuroo. The less personal space, the more flustered Kuroo gets and it’s— interesting. He doesn’t really get what’s so special about him, but when Kuroo had confessed a year ago, it hadn’t surprised him at all, because he’d felt the same. It had felt natural, to be on the same page— the way they always were.

Even so, sometimes he thinks about what people must see when they see them together. From an objective standpoint, Kuroo is handsome, charismatic, and could date if he wanted. He’s grown more confident as they’ve aged and Kenma’s just his childhood best friend. He thinks he’s just average looking. He’s dowdy and slouches too much, and he’s been too lazy to cut his hair or wear anything other than hoodies. There’s really nothing special about Kenma at all, so it’s fascinating that kissing Kuroo’s mouth earns him a low groan in his throat the way he did when Kenma overheard him masturbating once as a teenager.

Kuroo exhales. “I really messed up one of the questions,” he says, his eyebrows dipping together.

“I’m sure you didn’t. You can bullshit your way out of most things,” Kenma offers and Kuroo laughs. 

“I thought about it, but I really didn’t know what to say when they asked me what my future with JVA was. I answered honestly because I thought it was a good strategy, but the head of the entire thing turned to his assistant right after I spoke, so I don’t think he liked what I said.”

“That was just one question, though. You said you did better than the other candidates in the first round and you’re the only one who has actually played volleyball. You’re young. Of course you wouldn’t know if you’d want to stay with them long term. I think you’re fine, don’t overthink it,” Kenma says, brushing his thumb along Kuroo’s freshly cut hairline at the nape of his neck. 

“Okay, you’re right, you’re right. Here, move. I’ll cook us something so I can stop thinking about it.” Kenma does without complaining, moving back the few feet to the kotatsu. 

“Nothing too smelly or the downstairs neighbor will complain again.”

“It’s not our fault this apartment has shitty vents. Besides, they’re assholes. They had a party last weekend and we didn’t complain one time, but I can’t even make yakitori without them complaining like I’ve made stinky tofu,” Kuroo grumbles, opening up the fridge, hand on his hips. Kenma resettles back under the kotatsu and watches him. Kuroo shifts forward and Kenma stares a little, at the way his butt fills out his trousers perfectly.

“Hey, Kuro.”

“Mm?”

“You look really good,” Kenma says casually, a little proud that his cheeks don’t go hot. Kuroo bumps his head coming out of the fridge as he whips around. 

“Kenma, are you hitting on me?”

“Shut up,” Kenma mutters, rolling his eyes. “You look good in that suit. You look like a salaryman.”

“Is this one of your fantasies?” Kuroo teases. 

“No. Hurry up and make me dinner.”

“So demanding.”

While they’re waiting for the stove to heat up a pan, Kuroo reads the wedding invitation for Inuoka that they’d pinned under an ugly calico cat magnet. They haven’t met his fiancee yet, but they’ve heard that she’s cute and balances him out.

“Do you think I could just wear this to the wedding?”

“Probably,” Kenma says absently, glancing over his reading assignment still scattered on the table. Thinking about having to go to class tomorrow makes him want to drop out. “It’s so soon. We have to go look for wedding gifts.”

“Yaku already sent us options so we don’t end up getting him 7 handmixers. Didn’t read the Nekoma chat, hmm?”

“I muted it.”

“I knew it.”

Kuroo whips together omurice (with no ketchup on Kenma’s) and they eat in silence. Kenma finally checks the backlog of the Nekoma chat. He’s missed over 1000+ messages and snorts when there’d been a day when everyone had made fun of Lev’s latest magazine cover, speedo over denim and all.

“Hey, Kenma. If I get this job, we should move.”

“Where?” Kenma frowns. It sounds like so much trouble, but it is true that this apartment, although cheap, is falling apart slowly. “Closer to the subway? It’ll be expensive.”

“We’ll have enough, though. You’re getting more and more popular. Honestly, I’m tired of having to be quiet when you’re streaming. If we get something bigger… like a house, it’d be good, right? You could have a whole room for your gaming and I could maybe have an office? We wouldn’t have to pack up the kotatsu and table every day either,” he says. 

“A house?” Kenma asks, tilting his head. He’s never grown up in a house. Even his childhood home was a condo buried in a complex of other condos. “Isn’t that… too fast? We should look at bigger apartments first.”

“We can do both. Why not try? We might see something you like and by the way you’re playing stocks, you’re gonna be a millionaire by next year.”

“Shut up.” Kenma rolls his eyes. He is doing well, though, but it’s not like he’s doing it for the money.

It gets dropped quickly when Kuroo asks him about the new game he’s playing, a smile curling the corner of his mouth when Kenma gets particularly loud about how annoying the last level was and how it was definitely a bug in the game. 

After dinner, they curl up on the couch together and Kuroo queues up Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, a show they’ve watched together a few dozen times now. Kenma falls asleep with his head in Kuroo’s lap, his gentle fingers scratching at his scalp. 

»

Kuroo gets the job and they go celebrate with half of the old Nekoma team, along with Bokuto and Akaashi, as a joint celebration for Bokuto making it onto MSBY. Even though Akaashi had texted Kenma earlier in the day, worried about bringing up pro volleyball teams around Kuroo, Kenma assures him that he’s been in a good mood since JVA accepted him, and actually means it. It had taken a lot of physical therapy, painkillers and studying for Kuroo to get here. After his knee surgery, he’d pushed forward, moved passed it and hasn’t looked back once. 

Survivor instinct, maybe.

Kenma even enjoys himself, drinking more than usual, just happy that Kuroo’s happy. It’s interesting to watch Kuroo, the way he can change in an instant to match anyone’s mood and temperament, to make them feel comfortable. He gets louder when he’s with Lev or Bokuto and can fall into introspective talks with Kai at the drop of a hat. 

Kuroo has masks and skins. He’s like a shapeshifter, in a way, melding in and out of conversation, with an easy smirk. He never shows all of his cards, but he’s not dishonest, Kenma doesn’t think. He’s just careful, even if he loves his friends. These are parts of Kuroo, puzzle pieces he interchanges as he goes and Kenma admires it, because he always feels like he’s just the same as he always has been, quietly predictable.

Kenma eats the dishes Fukunaga offers him without complaint, watches Kuroo laugh full-bodied over Bokuto’s stupid joke. It’s rowdy, way too loud, but the restaurant’s closed for them thanks to Fukunaga being a line cook there. It’s a good day. 

They go home way too late, Kenma’s buzzed and Kuroo’s even drunker than him. The cab ride is long and Kenma’s hand squeezes the top of Kuroo’s thigh quietly when Kuroo presses his face into his neck. They both smell like cooked meat and beer and Kenma frowns, nosing at the faded cologne smell on Kuroo’s neck like a heat-seeking missile.

This is the Kuroo he gets to see, away from everyone else. Not the real Kuroo, but the whole Kuroo, sleepy and horny and quiet, and maybe a little needy.

“Sorry, he’s drunk,” Kenma apologizes to the cab driver, in case he gets suspicious. His eyes only flicker to them once and nothing else happens. They get dropped off without any trouble, though Kenma has to lug Kuroo up the old, rusty stairs to their apartment.

“Let me get the door open, Kuro— stop, that tickles,” he squirms, snorting when a warm hand presses against his belly. Then Kuroo’s big hands slide down and cup him through his pants. Kenma gasps, hips thrusting into Kuroo’s touch, nearly dropping his keys. He bites his lip, a shuddered breath hissing out shakily between his lips as Kuroo keeps touching him, palming his aching cock that’s pressed against his thigh. He gets the key in the door eventually and they stumble through in a messy pile. He spins on his heel, kicking off his shoes at the same time Kuroo crowds into him, lifting him up by his thighs and pinning him to the wall. 

“Want you,” Kenma says, cheeks heating at the confession.

He used to never think about sex, because it made him want to peel his skin off thinking about anybody touching him like that, focusing on him with microscopic precision. Their first time unlocked something inside of him and now he wants it all the time— more than average, maybe. More than he’s willing to let Kuroo know about. He can feel his body heating up under the hoodie he’d pulled over his sweater— always perpetually cold. 

Kuroo smooths his thumb over his blush and Kenma shakes him off so that he can kiss at his neck, suck at his skin. He uses his teeth and bites down hard enough to earn a hiss from Kuroo. He wants to mark him. He always gets like this when he’s a little tipsy, his possessive streak coming out. Kuroo groans again and walks them toward the bed until the backs of Kenma’s knees knock into the mattress and he falls with a bounce. The room spins briefly before Kuroo comes into his view, righting it again. Kenma kicks his other shoe off and reaches up for him, hands burying themselves at the nape of Kuroo’s neck.

Kuroo grins down at him, strips off his shirt, tilting his hips forward to show off and Kenma reaches out to him, smoothing his hands over the firm muscle of his abs, up to his ribcage. _Unfair_ , he pouts.

They reach for each other clumsily, Kenma’s normally deft fingers struggling with the buttons on Kuroo’s jeans. The want in his veins makes his brain fuzzy. He rocks up to kiss Kuroo, featherlight pecks to his mouth, his desire burning hot in his core when Kuroo covers him with his body, his big hands cupping his waist. Kenma huffs, impatiently shifting to hook his feet around the back of Kuroo’s thighs so they can rut together. 

Kuroo slides his hand up Kenma’s tummy, then his chest to thumb at his nipple. A shock of pleasure ripples down his spine, hips bucking as he makes an embarrassing sound he wishes he could hold back. Kuroo grins smugly, and does it again, pinching this time to make Kenma’s hips jolt up as Kuroo rocks down in perfect timing— the moan half escapes his mouth before Kenma has half a mind to cover his mouth with the back of his hand, but Kuroo takes his wrist and pins it to the bed. “Let me hear you,” Kuroo whispers huskily, breathily, smearing his lips against Kenma’s throat.

“No,” he protests weakly, turning his cheek, because it’s too much, having all of Kuroo’s attention like this. 

“So beautiful,” Kuroo murmurs, kissing him again, his tongue hot as he licks into him. It’s a deep kiss that leaves him dizzy. Eventually, Kenma unwraps his legs and they manage to shove their pants off enough for Kenma to wrap his fingers around Kuroo’s thick cock. Kuroo hisses, thrusting into the circle of his hand, eyes burning into him before it flickers down to watch. Kenma releases him briefly to lick a stripe on his palm and pumps Kuroo again, grinding up against him desperately. “How do you want it?” Kuroo stutters, his eyes shining darkly.

Wordlessly, Kenma flips over. He bites his bottom lip, and drags a pillow underneath him to hug. Kuroo presses his hand into the back of Kenma’s thigh, applying gentle pressure to signal Kenma to spread his legs a little more. He can feel the intensity of Kuroo’s gaze as he smooths his hand up Kenma’s thigh, cupping the round of his ass and spreads him apart. Kenma gasps, his cock twitching against the pillow when Kuroo thumbs at his hole. Kuroo keeps a hand on his ass as he leans over to their nightstand for condoms and lube.

He hears the snap of the lube cap and lifts his hips up, pressing into Kuroo’s firm hand. “I can take two,” he mumbles, twisting to peek over his shoulder. Kuroo’s gaze burns into him. He knows that look and Kuroo grins, licking his lips. “Kuro—no,” he manages before Kuroo’s ducking forward, his hot tongue flattening against Kenma’s hole, flicking with confidence. “Don’t it’s— dirty. I didn’t—” his breath hitches. Kuroo ignores him, humming smugly, because he loves eating Kenma out— spreads Kenma even further and fucks his tongue in. It’s hot, wet— Kenma keens, pressing his face into a pillow as Kuroo works him open, circling his tongue around and around, then changes his pace, pushing his tongue as deep as it’ll go until Kenma’s leaking precum all over the sheets. He fucks his tongue in again, mercilessly, keeps groaning like he loves it. Kenma muffles his moans into his pillow, rutting into the bed, cheeks wet. Kuroo finally pulls away, leaving him wet and empty. 

He barely gets a moment to catch his breath before Kuroo’s thick, lube-coated fingers are pushing in. Kenma gasps and hisses when Kuroo scissors him apart. He’s ready for the intrusion, likes the way it burns. 

“More— you can go faster,” Kenma pants, humping down against the bed and then back on Kuroo’s fingers. Kuroo doesn’t even protest, obviously worked up from eating him out, still tipsy and less careful than normal. Kenma keeps fucking back on his fingers, biting so hard into his lower lip it almost breaks skin. Sparks shoot behind his eyelids when Kuroo crooks his fingers and fucks him just right against his sweet spot and he sobs. “Kuro, ah, Kuro, please,” he begs. 

Kuroo teases him, lightens his press on his prostate and keeps twisting his fingers back and forth. He pulls all the way out and Kenma’s hole clenches on nothing. Kuroo leans forward and bites the shell of his ear, licking. “Do you want it?” he asks, his voice warm and smokey.

“Already said I did— you.” Kenma turns, glaring at him. 

“Just wanted to hear you say it. Love you,” Kuroo says with a grin, pressing a teasing head of his cock against his hole. Kenma’s breath hitches in anticipation. 

“Hate you. C’mon.” He reaches back, but Kuroo stops him again, holding onto his wrist firmly. 

“I’m gonna give it to you, kitten, don’t worry,” he says, insufferably. Kenma hates that nickname, the way it makes his cheeks burn hotter. Awful. Horrible Kuroo with his stupid hair and his stupid grin and his horrible teasing. The fat head of Kuroo’s cock presses in and Kenma holds his breath and stiffens, because it’s always the worst part, no matter how much he’s been prepped. He holds back a whine as Kuroo hiss, his cockhead stretching out his rim as he presses forward. Kuroo pauses, readjusting so he can watch the way Kenma’s taking his cock. Kenma knows he likes watching. “Can I keep going?” His voice gruff with want, even though Kenma knows he’s only taken the flared head of his cock. He feels full already and Kuroo smooths his hand down Kenma’s spine until his shoulders relax.

“Just go,” Kenma says, clutching at the sheets. Kuroo goes slowly, pushing into him with a grunt. He feels like he’s being split open and he whimpers, forcing himself to relax.

“So tight,” Kuroo grits out, so affected by it. Kenma reaches down, pulling at his own cheek, because he knows how to play dirty too. Kuroo moans at the sight and while he’s distracted, Kenma pushes up to his knees and slams back with a whine. “Baby— fuck,” Kuroo pants, leaning forward again to cover Kenma’s back with his chest. Kuroo cups his jaw and Kenma turns his head at the same time so that they can kiss messily.

Kuroo slams his cock back in, nailing his prostate and Kenma bites Kuroo’s bottom lip, cheeks hot. He can barely keep his eyes open, from how good Kuroo’s cock feels in him, the way it fills him up, stretches him out. Can barely keep kissing him when Kuroo keeps fucking him like that, pistoning his hips, trapping Kenma’s hips to fuck into him how he likes. Their skin slaps together and his cock keeps rubbing against the sheets. He’s going to come soon, but he can’t even get the words out. 

“K-Kuro— _ah,_ I… want to,” he moans and doesn’t have to say much more. Kuroo pulls out so that Kenma can flip over and wrap his legs around his waist. He re-aligns and sinks in, easier this time, now that Kenma’s been fucked open. Kenma’s back arches, his moan high when he picks up the pace again, fucking all the way to the hilt. Kuroo sucks on his neck and Kenma rakes his fingernails down his spine when his prostate gets relentlessly pounded.

Kuroo slows down a little and when Kenma opens his eyes, vision focusing, Kuroo has a slight wince on his face. Kenma reaches down instinctively to cradle the shiny V scar on his knee where they’d cut it open to try and patch the tear up. Kuroo’s drunk enough still that he doesn’t slap his hand away the way he usually does. “Do you want to stop? I can get on top,” Kenma says, kissing his brow.

“No, I’m fine, just give me a second,” Kuroo says, shifting his weight on to his other knee and hip. He sits back and Kenma gasps when his cock slides out of him. He doesn’t feel empty, just sensitive and wrung over from how deeply he was getting fucked. Kenma pets through Kuroo’s sweaty bangs and thinks about how to get Kuroo to lay down when his knee is irritated but he’s too stubborn. Kenma pulls him down, licking into his mouth and clutches at Kuroo’s ribs. It earns him a groan, so he slides his hands up into Kuroo’s hair, tugging hard once, the strands of his coarse hair tight in his fingers. Kuroo hisses and he surges up, hips first, bowling Kuroo over to his side.

“Finish what you started,” Kenma says, pushing his shoulder until he settles back down on the bed, his gaze heated. It makes Kenma’s stomach flutter. Kuroo grins, forgetting about his knee as he tugs him closer. The heat of his hands makes Kenma’s pulse jump and he straddles him, reaching his hand back to guide his cock back in place. Kenma sinks down as Kuroo thrusts up and his vision whites then reds in pleasure, mouth dropping open on a silent moan. He feels so full like this. Feels so good like this. He reaches down, splaying his fingers over his lower belly. “Kenma,” Kuroo groans, voice tight. Kenma lifts up and drops back down, limping forward this time, thighs trembling as Kuroo’s cock nails his prostate. He keeps chasing it, rocking back and forth, clenching around Kuroo’s cock. “You’re gonna kill me,” Kuroo grits out, his hands squeezing Kenma’s ass. He grins down at Kuroo and does his best, even though he’s tired and fucked out, to keep up a steady rhythm, bouncing on Kuroo’s cock. 

Kuroo fucks up into him and Kenma yelps, his nails digging into Kuroo’s chest. “K-Kuroo, fuck,” he stutters, feeling like he’s melting from the inside out from how good it feels. 

It doesn’t take long after that, not when Kuroo’s wrapping his hands around his cock, kissing his neck. His vision whites out as he comes, mouth dropped open. Kuroo keeps fucking him through it and he comes back into his fuzzy head just as Kuroo tenses beneath him and shoots his load inside of him. Kenma whimpers again, clutching at Kuroo’s shoulders.

“You’re shaking.” Kuroo kisses his sweaty temple and he stays like that, curled up in his lap with his face pressed into his chest as Kuroo pets his hair and keeps kissing him until his heartbeat steadies. Eventually, Kuroo helps him off of his lap, settling him on the bed and scoops him up in his arms.

Kenma’s too tired to move and wipe them down the way he normally does. He plants his head into the crook of Kuroo’s neck and tosses his leg over him too. Kuroo snorts, but pets his head and it nearly lulls him to sleep until Kuroo’s scratchy voice vibrates in his ear.

“I think we should find a place that has a nice old lady that will tell us we’re too skinny and feed us.”

“You just want a maid,” Kenma says, eyes still closed.

“You’re rich enough to hire one.”

“We’re not hiring a maid.” Kenma opens his eyes to glare at him, and flicks his nose. “I wouldn’t know how to act around them, so I’d hide in my room or wait for them to leave before cleaning everything again.”

“Fine, no maid. But an old couple sounds nice. Or maybe a young couple so we can play with their kids, but can go back home to our quiet place. Maybe a cat and… a dog?”

“Kids?” Kenma wrinkles his forehead. He hopes to god that this isn’t Kuroo thinking about adopting and trying to hint at it. “They’re like aliens to me. I can barely talk to an adult— how can I entertain a kid?”

Kuroo’s face breaks out into an amused, fond smile. “You would be good at it. You’re observant and notice what people like right away.”

“A cat is fine. No dog,” he says and Kuroo pouts. “You’ll be busy. You still have to get used to this job.” Kenma pauses. What’s the rush? Kuroo’s not even 25 yet. They have their whole lives together, at least… he can’t say it out loud. But that’s what he thinks. 

“Fine, no dog. But a new place.”

Kenma sighs. 

“Fine. We can go see,” he grumbles, hiding his smile when Kuroo beams at him.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’ll be great,” Kuroo says with a small smile, squeezing his hand reassuringly. His voice is warm and scratchy and his eyes— the look in his eyes ebbs away Kenma’s anxiety. He nods, reluctantly.
> 
> If Kuroo says it’ll be great, then he believes him.

Kuroo’s first day at work starts off with a little disaster. Kenma stays up editing for most of the night like usual, but Kuroo, who normally goes to bed by 1:00 am, can barely sleep. Kenma listens all night as he tosses and turns and huffs into his pillows. A few times he stops to check on him, kissing his forehead before snapping his headphones back over his ears. 

Kenma’s eyes burn a little as he blinks at the clock. 6:56 am. He sighs, slips the headphones off and spins in his chair to see Kuroo snoring gently on the bed in his work clothes, one sock on and his phone slumped in his hand. Kenma hurries over to him and shakes him awake, voice raised in panic. “Kuroo, you’re going to be late, wake up.” He snaps awake, nearly cracking his skull against Kenma’s. He’s panting and Kenma bends to pick up his sock. “It’s fine,” Kenma reassures, even though he’s not sure it is actually going to be fine. 

Kuroo leaves shortly after, leaving a cloud of lingering anxiety. Kenma wishes he could do more to help. Eventually, it ebbs away and Kuroo texts him that he’d made it just in time and that the secretary was late to show him around anyway. 

Kenma goes back into editing mode instead of sleeping, because he has to push out two videos this week before going on hiatus for finals. When he hears the front door open, his eyes burn and his shoulder aches from how he’d been crunched up in front of his computer. 

“I’m home,” Kuroo says, voice distant and muffled beyond the closed door.

Kenma stretches, lifts himself off his chair and slides the door open. “Welcome home.” He scratches at his tummy, slippers thwacking on the tatami. “How was it?”

“It was good. It was really good,” Kuroo says, a little nugget of excitement permeating his voice. Kenma smiles to himself, watching him unpack the bag of food. His tie is askew and hair’s flattened from the long day. Still handsome, of course.

The smell of food wafts into the air as Kuroo pops open containers and Kenma’s stomach growls. He hasn’t eaten all day, too consumed by editing. 

“Tell me all about it,” Kenma says, plopping into the seat. He unwraps a set of chopsticks and breaks them apart, scooping up a piece of eel into his mouth. 

“They’re all really nice. I thought I’d be the only one under 30, but there’s 4 or 5 people who are a little older than us who work in different departments than me.”

“You’d get along with them eventually even if they were in their 40s, because you have the personality of an old man, anyway,” Kenma says, smirking when Kuroo’s face scrunches.

“Haha, so funny,” he says, leaning in to kiss the side of Kenma’s mouth, startling him. He can feel his face go red and he stops chewing to glare at Kuroo. “Your face,” is all Kuroo says, eyes crinkling. 

“You’re the worst.”

»

It’s still cold enough outside that Kenma has to wear a scarf when they go apartment hunting. The realtor is their friend’s friend, a lesbian that’s quietly married to her wife, so they both feel comfortable enough to hold hands throughout the tour. 

The first place is a little too far from where they want, although the layout is nice and there’s plenty of room to set up a small office for Kuroo in the living room. The other downside is that the bedroom is small and the second bedroom is even smaller, but still suitable for Kenma’s gaming setup. It doesn’t feel right, though, so she shows them two more apartments and two houses.

The first house Kuroo loves immediately. His eyes light up at the high ceilings, the old, original walnut floors. Everything creaks slightly as they walk through, but it’s well loved. The owners had lived there for over 50 years and had passed away from old age. They’d planted bamboo around the fence so it cuts the sound of the city, even though it’s in the middle of Tokyo. There’s a room as big as their entire apartment and the bathroom is recently renovated. Kuroo keeps squeezing his hand, pulling him to look at this and that. But—

“It’s too big,” Kenma says when they’re walking down the front pathway, gravel crunching underneath their feet.

“It’s perfect, it’s not too big. Everyone can come visit us and we can host people instead of taking over the restaurant or squeezing into anyone’s 1R apartment. You could fit Shrimpy and his whole family in there if you wanted to!”

“Kuro,” Kenma says, still feeling uneasy about it. He doesn’t know why it’s making his hands clammy and his stomach drop, thinking about that big house, the big spaces. Maybe it’s because he and Kuroo have lived in each other’s pocket their entire lives. It was his bedroom or Kuroo’s, and even when Kuroo went off to college, they’d travel back and forth to his tiny dorm, back to back. But he knows that their current apartment situation isn’t working. Since they’ve moved in, Kenma’s gotten sick more often than he’s ever been and Kuroo thinks it’s because of mold somewhere they can’t see. 

“It’ll be great,” Kuroo says with a small smile, squeezing his hand reassuringly. His voice is warm and scratchy and his eyes— the look in his eyes ebbs away Kenma’s anxiety. He nods, reluctantly.

If Kuroo says it’ll be great, then he believes him.

»

They get the house under Kenma’s name and then it’s a whirlwind of boxes, taking things out of storage to fill up the spaces in the house. Every day, their friends are there to help and Kenma’s glad that Kuroo pulled him into volleyball. 

Fukunaga marvels at how big the kitchen is and demands to organize their pantries for them. Lev helps with getting cobwebs off the high ceilings and Yaku coordinates everyone through a video call in between his practices. Tora, who is surprisingly superstitious, burns incense for them and gets them charms from a shrine for good luck and to ward off evil. Lev does a stupid dance that his management had made him learn when they wanted him to be an idol before realizing he has two left feet and Kenma laughs so hard he cries.

Their laughter absorbs into the walls and it really does start to feel like a home. 

After everyone’s full of take-out swiped on Kenma’s credit card, Kai pulls him aside in guise of helping sort through Kenma’s boxes, away from everyone else. 

“He seems to be doing better,” Kai mentions, keeping his voice low as he takes out little gundam figurines wrapped in bubble wrap. 

“He is,” Kenma says, glancing up at the door. He can hear Lev’s loud voice and Kuroo laughing at something with Tora, so he relaxes. 

“We thought it was bad there for a while, but he’s recovered quickly, hasn’t he?”

“He has.” Kenma nods slowly and thinks, _He’s adapted_ again. 

He ignores the small seed of doubt, the one that thinks everything is wrong all the time. _It’s fine,_ he tells himself, hearing another ugly Kuroo-cackle from the kitchen to help soothe the bubbling pit in his stomach. 

“Well, that’s a relief,” Kai says with a grin. He sets down the salt and pepper shakers shaped like cats. “You’ve both worked really hard, so enjoy it, okay? Don’t forget to invite us over.” Kai squeezes his wrist once and Kenma’s learned over the years that Kai’s the only person he tries to listen to. Nothing’s worse than Kai’s look of disappointment. Kenma makes an affirmative noise and Kai grins at him.

»

Crickets chirp a welcoming song as they sit on the patio to look out at the garden. It’s so, so quiet and still. Kuroo rests his chin on Kenma’s head, hugging him closer, nose digging into his hair.

“I haven’t showered yet,” Kenma says, pulling his head away. “I haven’t sweat this much since I was a setter.” He shakes his head, his dirty hair loose in front of his face.

“I don’t mind,” Kuroo says honestly, nosing deeper into his hair and Kenma’s face flushes, because Kuroo’s told him before he likes the way he smells. “It’s coming together, isn’t it?”

Kenma hums, twisting his lip as he thinks about all of the empty boxes they still have to break down. It's amazing how much stuff they've accumulated over the years. “I think Shouhei was more excited about our kitchen than we are. It’s far from JVA headquarters, isn’t it?”

“Ah, but I don’t mind the commute. It’ll motivate me more at work, thinking about coming home to our house and to you. And our animals.”

“The animals again?” 

“Yeah, you definitely need a cat for company. Maybe one that’s old and fat and just sits in your lap all day. And a dog for me. And you’ll pretend you don’t like him, but you’ll like him. And you won’t even have to walk him much, because the backyard is huge.”

“What if he eats the koi fish?” 

“He wouldn’t. I’ll train him. He’ll be the best dog,” Kuroo says confidently and Kenma laughs, imagining having to chase after a dog covered in foamy soap.

“Do you always think so far ahead?” Kenma asks, snuggling closer to him. 

“Well, I guess so? I just want to keep moving forward,” Kuroo says, eyes staring out ahead, determined. Kenma hums and it goes quiet again.

There’s a porch light above them with one burnt out bulb that they’ll have to replace, but it’s enough for Kenma to turn and do his very favorite thing, which is observe Kuroo while he’s thinking. He likes the way Kuroo’s eyes look in this light and the way the shadows are cast from his brow onto his cheek. _Handsome_. 

It’s strange when he thinks about the years they’ve been through together and how they’re closer to thirty than they are to twenty.

He can still see traces of the boy who hid behind his father’s leg; sometimes his smile is the same as that little boy, but really, he’s almost a brand new person. All of his skin cells have shed over, so technically, he’s not really the person he was at 8 years old at all. Kenma glides his thumb across the veins on Kuroo’s hands. There’s a small dark spot on his thumb from when he’d nailed it on accident during college. The skin had darkened after it got infected for a week from the old nail. He knows that as they get older, their collagen will loosen and more dark spots will start to appear. Kenma wonders if Kuroo will get gray hair the way his dad has and the way his grandpa did. It’ll look good on him. Meanwhile, Kenma thinks he’ll probably be ID’d for liquor until he’s in his fifties, the way his mom still does. He has most of her genes. 

The wood of the house creaks when wind sweeps past the bamboo and Kenma shivers a little, so Kuroo rubs his shoulders.

He makes himself laugh when he thinks about the soapy dog again and Kuroo tilts his head in question. “I realized that I’m always thinking about our future too.” Kuroo’s smile melts into something soft and tender and he knocks their heads together. His hand is warm, palm a familiar mold in Kenma’s hand and he squeezes their fingers tightly.

«««

 _Kuroo is a crybaby,_ Kenma thinks briefly, hovering over him nervously. It surprises him that this is the same boy that said that it was just a little internal bleeding. Snot runs down his face in unattractive clear streaks that make his top lip shine. The spokes on the wheel _click click click_ repetitively. He supposes that it’s different, though. The bruises from too much volleyball are a choice, and this is unintended harm.

“Are you okay?” Kenma asks, fists nervously twisting in his shirt. They are too far to run back home, and from the look of their bikes, the wheels are all bent and unusable. _What do I do? What do I do? What should I do?_ Cars slow when they pass them but never stop, and Kenma’s heartbeat pounds in his ears, nearly deafening. He can feel the tingle of panic growing and growing in his chest. _No, not now_ , he begs himself, squeezing his eyes shut. Kuroo is still crying.

He forces himself to look and spots a store across the street. An old man with a shopping bag comes out and Kenma runs across after a car passes, heart hammering against his chest.

“Excuse me! Please help my friend!” 

The man follows him across and he puts his wrinkly, sun-spotted hand on Kuroo’s head, murmuring softly to him and helps him stand up. There’s blood on Kuroo’s shorts and a dark brown mark on the concrete where his knee and leg scraped up. Kenma finally glances down at it, the skin peeled up in jagged, angry edges. His own palms sting from where he’d caught himself from falling, and when he checks on it, there are still pebbles of concrete embedded in his skin. If this hurts, he can’t imagine how painful it must be when the second layer of skin is exposed.

He feels guilty, then, for thinking Kuroo is a crybaby, because it must hurt and there is no way Kuroo would have thought Kenma was a crybaby if he had been the one to fall. 

Eventually, with shaky hands, they make it home. His mom cleans both of their cuts and stitches them up. They wrap themselves in a blanket, sitting close enough that when Kenma reaches up to twist his bangs, he can feel Kuroo’s shoulder shifting. After a few rounds of video games, they forget about the sting.

»»»

There’s no sound when it happens. No bones snapping, no screams of pain. Kuroo’s face goes white as a ghost and he crumples to the ground. His kneepad is cut off by the medic so he can get a look, and before it can swell any more, he wraps it back up in clean gauze to keep compression on it. 

There is no snot. No tears. No blood. No old man lifting Kuroo up onto his shoulders and holding Kenma’s trembling hand. No one to ask where they live, if they like school, and if they play sports and get good grades. No one to distract them until Kuroo stops crying and can reply in short, stuttering words between hiccups.

Kenma is allowed to go to the hospital with him, but they make him wait in the sitting room while they call his dad.

He realizes it’s the first time he doesn’t know what to do.

It’s looking grim, they say. Kenma hears _long recovery_ and _never be the same_ in the stretched out speech that doctors must say to patients so often, it’s almost automatic. 

The worst part isn't the consistent beeping in the hospital room that sets him on edge, or the smell of death and antiseptic— it’s Kuroo’s smile, the way it doesn’t reach his eyes, makes his lips contort all wrong as he’s told he’s going to have a long road to recovery— like he knows that everyone knows that it isn’t true. There is no recovery, not from this.

»

In a way, the year after the knee surgery is difficult, but predictably so. They have doctor’s appointments and physical therapy appointments, and deal with Kuroo’s nausea from the painkillers. Difficult, but prescribable and easy to monitor. If they talk about Kuroo’s knee, then it’s all clinical. How does it feel today? _Okay, not okay, not bad_. 

Fliers and audition dates for the V-league teams are all erased from Kuroo’s phone, tucked away into drawers and never talked about again. Rules go up like lighthouses for everyone— steer clear of V-league, but don’t pity Kuroo, because he hates that even more. If people want to really know how Kuroo is doing, they can just ask Kenma, who would tell them the truth. But this is different. 

There’s a line of stress bunched up in Kuroo’s shoulders in a new way, and Kenma wants to put his hand on him and dig out the knots, but his fingers feel too frozen today. 

“How was work?” he asks, figuring out where to prod, where to jump and land and not hit a trap. “It was fine. So many meetings,” Kuroo says, digging the palm of his hand into his eye. 

Kenma chews on a hangnail on his thumb, churning over how to make Kuroo look less tired, less stressed. _What do you need? How do I give it to you?_

“I can order some food,” Kenma offers, reaching out to undo Kuroo’s tie. 

“I’m okay, I stopped by the konbini on the way here.” Kuroo sighs before shuffling over to his jacket draped on the dining chair. He pulls out Kenma’s favorite candy bar with a tired smile. Kenma takes it half-heartedly, putting it into his hoodie pocket for later. “Going to shower.” Kuroo passes him with a quick press of lips to his forehead. Kenma watches him disappear down the hallway. 

If it bugs Kuroo enough, he’ll tell him. Kenma bites his lip and looks behind him at the stack of dishes he’s left. He should at least clean, which he’s been neglecting, even though Kuroo had asked him to wash them yesterday. 

When Kuroo comes out of the bathroom, he seems no less tense. Kenma sets the last dish on the rack to dry and takes the candy bar out of his pocket as he strategizes what to do next to get Kuroo to talk. He unwraps the chocolate that Kuroo had bought for him, breaking off a piece to offer out to Kuroo. 

Kuroo leans over, his lips closing over his fingertips. It’s wet and hot in Kuroo’s mouth and he can feel him sucking on them, drinking the melted chocolate down. Kuroo swipes his tongue around his digits. _Oh_ , Kenma thinks. _I can do that, if he wants._

He pulls his fingers out, cups Kuroo’s cheek and kisses him.

«««

Kenma isn’t allowed to stay the night at the hospital and his parents gently chastise him that it’s best he waits until Kuroo comes home. 

A taxi pulls up to their complex and Kenma runs down stairs to meet a Kuroo who is already out of the car with crutches under his armpits and a bandaged knee wrapped tightly in a brace. 

“Yo,” Kuroo greets, looking sleepless, another strange and empty smile on his lips. “Can I come over to yours?”

His dad helps Kuroo up the flight of stairs to Kenma’s room and leaves them alone. The air between them remains as fragile as a bubble as Kenma unwraps the Shounen Jump that he’d picked up for Kuroo yesterday. Kuroo takes it with that bland smile again. 

An hour passes with Kuroo quietly reading and Kenma playing a mobile game. He doesn’t know how to bring it up. It keeps whirring in his head until Kuroo finally says, “I’m going into marketing. I’d be good at it, don’t you think?”

Kenma loses concentration on his game and his high score dies in his hands. “I think you’d be good at anything you decided on.” 

“Kenma! You flatter me,” Kuro says with a grin that still feels too forced, the Shounen Jump balanced on his good knee. 

“I’m not, it’s just the truth.” Kenma lifts his shoulders and drops them. Kuroo tosses the Shounen Jump aside and moves slowly to sit up, shuffling onto Kenma’s bed. He drops next to him, head in his lap. They do this sometimes, this closeness familiar. He sets his phone down and cards his fingers through Kuroo’s hair, still a little greasy from not showering for a few days. Kuroo’s eyes are closed and Kenma takes the time to observe him, noting his short, straight lashes and the bruised half circles under his eyes. His lips look drier than normal, and there’s a sad crease to them. 

He thinks about Peter and Wendy, how in the corner of someone’s mouth, you can keep things there, and right now, all that he can see there is sadness.

It’s strange having his face close to someone else’s face— everything blurs, like looking down at your own nose. There’s a blindspot in his field of vision. Kissing someone is too close. 

He doesn’t really register what he’s done, but Kuroo’s face looks shocked, eyes open, mouth agape. Kenma can’t really remember what it felt like when their lips touched, not when his face feels so hot, it’s probably frying his brain. 

Kuroo licks his lips and Kenma’s eyes flick down against his will. He just wanted to wipe the sadness away, is all. 

“Do you… want to play Street Fighter?” Kenma offers, voice as thin as straw.

Kuroo licks his lips again and then rolls up, leaving Kenma’s lap cold. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he says, smiling small at first, until it grows unruly enough that Kenma’s brows scrunch together in embarrassment. He grins. “I’d be okay if you did that other thing again, too.” 

Kenma shoves him off of his lap with a huff, moving to set up his game so he doesn't have to look at Kuroo’s cheshire grin anymore. 

He's just glad that Kuroo's smile is back to normal.

»

It’s hot where Kuroo touches him, sears his palm against his hips as he fucks into him. Kenma shudders, but keeps his eyes open, watching Kuroo’s face twisted in concentration. Kenma takes him, his hip following Kuroo’s movement. Kenma gasps when Kuroo goes deeper, body bending up to meet Kuroo’s thrust. He holds him closer, reaches up to pet through Kuroo’s sweat-damp hairline, traces his furrowed brow. 

“It’s okay,” Kenma says, biting the shell of his ear. “If you want to go faster. It’s okay.” Kuroo tenses, opening his eyes to meet Kenma’s gaze. Kenma gives a slow nod and watches the tension from Kuroo’s shoulders finally loosen. 

»

Kenma comes out of the shower, aching pleasantly. It’ll be annoying tomorrow when he has to sit in class all day, but Kuroo’s happier now, so it’s worth it. Kuroo hooks his thumb into the book he’s reading to hold his place and looks up at Kenma with a relaxed smile. He’s ready to talk, so Kenma pads over. “It’s just this asshole at work,” Kuroo starts, which surprises Kenma, because Kuroo’s always willing to give people a chance. “He thinks he owns me just because he’s my senpai and has been there for a year. He doesn’t pull his load so I’m ending up having to tie up all of his loose ends and then he takes the fucking credit for it.”

Kenma mulls it over, tucking his bangs behind his ear. “You’re smarter than him, and you work harder, so someone will notice— that’s what someone would say to make you feel better, right?” 

That’s what Kuroo’s thinking too, Kenma’s sure of it. Kuroo’s jaw locks up again, so Kenma comes over, sliding into his side of the bed.

“Whatever you’re thinking right now, it’s probably counter-productive. I know you’re smart and you’re working hard and it’s still not working out. Maybe all you have to do is outsmart him. Or outlast him?”

“What if that doesn’t happen? I’m supposed to just sit there and take his abuse?”

“You won’t. You’ll find a way. Maybe with allies?” Kenma suggests. “If he’s doing this to you, he’s probably done it to others, too.” 

“Allies,” Kuroo repeats, something sparking in his eye. “I think I have an idea.” Kuroo’s grin grows and Kenma thinks that he’s probably made this man’s life hell.

»

“Keiji,” Kenma calls out quietly as he double checks his pocket for Kuroo’s ticket, worried that he’d left it on the subway. Akaashi turns to regard him with a nod, but doesn’t move away from the growing line. Kenma pauses, bracing himself for the weight of Kuroo’s hand to push him forward into the crowd. He turns his head to the empty space next to him and it takes a second to remember that Kuroo isn’t there with him yet. He rubs his eye and gnaws the inside of his lip, eyeing the line again, his anxiety spiking the louder people get.

“Where is Kuroo?” Akaashi shouts to him, raising a brow and Kenma takes two breaths before he forces himself forward. It helps to press his arm into Akaashi’s, but he can feel the buzz of panic simmering right under his skin. 

“He’s on his way. He got caught up with work,” Kenma replies, focusing his eyes on the menu so he can avoid thinking about how vulnerable he feels without Kuroo here.

“You don’t think he’s just using that as an excuse to avoid this?”

“No.” Kenma shakes his head, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Well, MSBY was his number one choice, wasn’t it?” Kenma glances over at Akaashi, his face stern, eyebrows raised.

“It was. But he’s moved past it.” Akaashi looks like he doesn’t believe him and Kenma exhales. “He has. He’s not like me.”

“What do _you_ mean?”

“He’s able to let go of things and move on from them. He’s always been like that. He just keeps moving forward, doesn’t dwell on things that he has no control over. He’s really focused on this new job.” Kenma feels like he’s the opposite, can’t move on from things easily at all, he turns them over and over in his mind until he’s paralyzed. Kenma tugs his sleeve over his fist.

“It’s just that when the injury happened, it seemed like we were told to avoid talking about it,” Akaashi says unconvinced, before stepping forward to order enough onigiri for all the three of them. Kenma manages to get his credit card out in time, despite Akaashi’s glare.

“I think everyone else just thought they should avoid talking about it, but it’s not like he stopped watching matches or rejected volleyball completely. It’s still his job, just in a different way.”

“I think that’s why we were all worried,” Akaashi says after a long pause, his eyes still far too centered on Kenma. “To me, just seems like he hasn’t moved on. If he really wanted to, wouldn’t he want to get a job that’s in a totally different field? I know when I realized I could never do volleyball professionally, I had literature as my backup plan. Aren’t you worried, Kenma-kun?” 

Kenma inhales sharply. _Of course I am._ He forcibly kills those words in his throat, though. “No, I’m not. Because if anything was wrong, he would tell me.”

Akaashi hums. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound like I know more about Kuroo than you do,” He gently, places a hand on his shoulder, his smile apologetic. “If you say he’s fine, then you’re right. I’m sure he’s fine.”

They get to their seats and Kenma’s nerves recover once he's able to hunker down. He doesn’t touch his onigiri until the match starts, but he can barely get through one, his mind repeating Akaashi’s words over and over until it soils his appetite. Kuroo misses the entire first set, which makes the worry grow in his gut. What if something bad happened on his way here? Kenma chews on his sleeve, and in the middle of a long rally, he finally gets a text.

> _Kuroo: Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I don’t think I can make it. That asshole at work is adding work on to everyone’s plates._
> 
> _Kenma: Bokuto’s going to be disappointed_
> 
> _Kuroo: I know. I’ll tell him sorry myself and I’ll get him a beer. I’m watching from my laptop when I can. He’s killing it out there._

Kuroo’s unused ticket burns against his thigh for the rest of the game.

»»»

Kenma pushes the porridge around his bowl, phone pressed to his ear. He can barely stomach the plain, mushy rice. He just has no appetite, though he isn’t sure if it’s just because of the cold he’d gotten earlier this week. Kuroo had chopped up scallions for him and put sticky notes on all of the containers, so it was easy to heat up. 

“You’re going to be home late again?” Kenma asks, chasing around a single rice kernel that had separated from the rest of the porridge. 

“Yeah,” Kuroo says and he can hear shuffling in the background. “We’re trying to lock down this sponsorship, but the hours for them are all off because the president is out of the country, so we have to be on a call late here, early for them."

“Don’t sleep in your office again,” Kenma says, frowning.

“That was one time.”

“It’s not healthy. I know you want to prove yourself, but you can’t let them step all over you like that.”

“I’m not. I wanted to be here for this call. It’s a good opportunity to get my voice heard. I have so many ideas for the league next year.” Kuroo’s voice gets that determined tone to it, finessed by his years as captain.

Kenma pulls the phone away so he can sigh. “At least… get a hotel for the night. Or a capsule.”

Kuroo hums. Kenma fishes out a big chunk of ginger. 

“So you will?”

“What did you say? Sorry, I’m reading this email.” Kenma grips his spoon harder. 

“I said, can you get a hotel for the night?” 

“Yeah, I will, I will,” Kuroo mutters, distractedly, the way he always is lately. Even when he’s home with Kenma in his arms, his mind’s occupied with work. He knows how Kuroo gets when he can’t let go of an idea of his, but it doesn’t make the frustration go away. 

“Will you actually?” 

“Huh?”

“Kuro.”

“Yes, I said I would. I’m getting one, I swear. I’ll book it now.” 

Kenma sighs again, slumping forwards in exhaustion, his arm pushing his bowl away. “I guess it’s fine. I’m still just sick anyway.” It’s not like he’s much fun when he’s sick. Always gets needier, so he’s sure he’d be annoying.

“Are you eating the porridge?”

“I’m trying.”

“Good.”

Kuroo taps away on his keyboard and Kenma closes his eyes, his head still throbbing from the pressure in his skull.

“Maybe I’ll play that the new Soul Caliber that they asked me to beta test.” He doesn’t like it much, but Kuro likes watching him play it for some reason, so he’d agreed to test it.

“Mn.”

“The graphics look better this time and hopefully they fixed some of the lagging problems. When you’re home you can watch me play that or we could play Overwatch.” Kuroo doesn’t respond for what feels like minutes and Kenma bites his lip. “Kuro. Did you hear me?”

“What? Yeah, I did. Overwatch, right? Yeah that sounds good.” 

“Okay. Well, we don’t have to.” Kenma frowns. 

“No, no, we can do whatever you want.”

 _I don’t want to anymore,_ Kenma bites back. The throbbing behind his right eye gets worse, so he digs the palm of his heel into his eye and turns his head to look at the fridge, trying to focus on something else. The wedding invitation has nearly slipped out from under the calico cat magnet.

“Next month we have to borrow the car from my parents and leave early on Friday so we can make it to Inuoka’s wedding. You asked off, right?”

“Yeah, I— yes sensei? I can email them right now or I can run down to meet them. Kenma, I have to go, talk later!” He hangs up.

Kenma stares at his phone screen for a long time. “Bye,” he says softly to no one. The wind howls through the house.

They were supposed to get the bedroom insulated before winter, because the old walls are too thin and the entire house is drafty. Kuroo’s dad was going to come down to help patch up some holes and fix the broken bathroom door, but there’s never any time.

“It’s a good opportunity for him,” Kenma reminds himself out loud, his words echoing in their big, empty house.

He sighs and scoops the rice porridge into the trash and leaves the dishes in the sink. He crawls back under the kotatsu, lays on his left side and hopes that when he wakes up, Kuroo is home.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Stay. Don’t go,_ he thinks. It’s every bit as ugly and desperate as it sounds in his head as it is to roll around between his teeth and gums. Work is important to Kuroo and he knows that. But there’s something happening between them, like there’s a smudge on his glasses and he’s seeing Kuroo less clearly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's a long and sad one..... im sorry. Thank you again to tae for beta-ing ilysm!!!

Kenma turns 22 with Kuroo’s hands up his shirt, snoring gently into his neck. Kuroo hasn’t been home in days, so it feels surreal to be able to wrap his arms around him and hold on tight. He’s a familiar, comforting weight that makes Kenma’s eyes droop shut again. He dozes for a few more minutes, until Kuroo’s scratchy, sleepy voice rumbles against his chest. 

“Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” Kenma whispers, shyly. “Is there anything you want to do today?”

“It’s your day. What do _you_ want to do?”

“I don’t want or need to do anything,” he hums, eyes shutting again, warmth spreading all the way from his belly up to his neck. He’s happy, just like this.

“Well, that’s not going to do! It’s your big day, come on, up, up, up!”

Kenma grumbles, because he feels lazy and he wants to sleep in all day. Kuroo tugs on his arms, lifting him half-way off the bed. “It’s just a normal day. It’s not a big deal.” 

“How could you say that? It’s _the_ Kodzuken’s birthday. It should be a national holiday, at this point!”

It’s hard to fight a smile off his lips, but he stays firm, going limp in Kuroo’s arms to make it harder for him to lift him up.

“Ice-cream?” Kuroo’s voice drops menacingly, because he knows that Kenma has a notorious sweet tooth and he’s especially weak against ice-cream. 

“Fine,” Kenma says, eventually. Kenma squawks when Kuroo lets go of him.

He showers for the first time in a few days, wipes away all the college student grime and comes out feeling refreshed and actually a little excited to leave the house, for once. He’s just grateful that his birthday had landed on a quiet Sunday— the only day Kuroo is home from work consistently.

They get a taxi to their favorite ice cream shop. It’s early enough in the day that it isn’t crowded, so they sit outside on the bench and people watch. Kuroo gets black sesame and steals scoops of Kenma’s strawberry, but Kenma lets him. 

“What do you think about a second home in Roppongi Hills?” 

Kenma wrinkles his nose. “Second home? I hate Roppongi. Half of the people who live there think they’re better than everyone else and the other half are tourists who want to be the people who live there.”

Kuroo grins at him, clearly amused. “Well I think you _are_ better than everyone else, so I think it’s a great choice.”

“Stop,” Kenma mutters, bumping his shoulder with Kuroo. “We don’t need a second home.” He’s still getting used to the one they have now. “Yeah, you’re right. We’ll keep working on the one we have now. We’ll make it perfect. I’m thinking three different types of Koi. Oh, and the bathroom door is still squeaking. What do you think about a garden? We should plant some leafy greens, because I’ve heard lettuce is easy to manage. Fresh lettuce! All those nutrients will be good for us— but especially you. I’m thinking we really make the spare bedroom comfortable for guests, so that if Bokuto and Akaashi come over and decide to secretly fuck, they don’t break that little twin bed we have right now.”

Kenma rolls his eyes, but he can feel himself smiling anyway. “I just say we never let them stay over,” Kenma suggests, which makes Kuroo cackle. “We should save it for your dad. Has he been well?”

“Ah, yeah, he has,” Kuroo says, his mood dropping a little. 

Kenma tugs the bottom of his shirt. “Is he okay?” 

“He is. It’s just—” Kenma holds his breath, but Kuroo just shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Let’s not ruin your birthday, hm?” _What is it?_ Kenma’s brows furrow. He wants to know, but Kuroo recollects himself and the moment seems to slip away even further when Kuroo leans forward to lick a long stripe from Kenma’s melting ice-cream cone to diffuse the situation. 

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Kuroo grins at him, big and empty— Kenma doesn't register it until Kuroo’s new mask clicks into place. 

»

Kuroo’s gone four days in a row. On his half day back home, Kenma feels like he blinks and Kuroo already has to go again.

He can’t stop thinking about his birthday, how Kuroo’s evolved again, but this time, he’s left Kenma behind. 

_Stay. Don’t go,_ he thinks. It’s every bit as ugly and desperate as it sounds in his head as it is to roll around between his teeth and gums. Work is important to Kuroo and he knows that. But there’s something happening between them, like there’s a smudge on his glasses and he’s seeing Kuroo less clearly. 

Kuroo’s broad back stretches the clean shirt he’d dutifully pressed flat last night. It’s crisp and perfectly white, glowing in the dim light of their bedroom. Kenma swallows his tongue and drags himself across the bed, wrapping his arms around Kuroo’s waist. It’s embarrassing to even do it. His forehead presses against Kuroo’s skin. 

“Oh?” Kuroo murmurs quietly, his back shifting as he continues with his tie. 

Kenma inhales and then moves into action, almost automatically. He tugs on Kuroo’s shoulder and slides off the bed until his knees hit the plush of the rug. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, just knows that his heart is racing and Kuroo’s eyes are on him now.

“Kenma—” Kuroo says in surprise, eyes going wide as Kenma keeps his eye contact, hands deftly undoing his belt buckle and unzipping him. He yanks impatiently at Kuroo’s wrinkle-free trousers and ducks forward, mouthing at the cotton of his boxers. It’s dry against his tongue, but Kuroo’s cock twitches as his hand settles on Kenma’s head.

He pulls at the waistband and doesn’t wait for his cock to still before he wraps his fingers around the base. He tongues his slit in reply, sucks on the head to taste. Kuroo hisses and bucks up, enough that his cock fills Kenma’s mouth before he can adjust. He’s never been good at taking Kuroo down, but he pushes through anyway, bobbing, sinking, until the back of his throat starts to clench up at the intrusion. It burns and he gags, fingers clenching around Kuroo’s bunched up trousers as tears well up. 

“K-Kenma, go slow. You don’t have to—” he says breathily, but Kenma doesn’t listen, because he does have to. His mouth feels full and he goes again, letting the crown of Kuroo’s cock hit the back of his throat before he pulls back up, panting, cheeks flushed, fingers still clutched too tight. He doesn’t close his eyes, keeps them on Kuroo as he rests his cheek against his fully hard cock. “Kenma, what? What’s gotten into you?”

His knees hurt, but he ignores them to mouth at the vein on the underside of Kuroo’s cock. He reaches down to grind his palm against his own hardening cock, turned on from the way Kuroo looks, from the way his lips feel bruised. Kenma laps up the precum beading at the tip, then pumps him slowly, watching his foreskin pull back to reveal the deep pink, shiny head. 

“Kenma, Kenma— _fuck_.”

He works him over, hands and mouth in tandem, hands picking up when he can’t keep sucking, when he can’t slide his mouth down him fast enough— but enough for Kuroo to buck his hips and come. Kenma doesn’t swallow, because he hates the taste and the texture, lets it dribble down his lips back onto Kuroo’s messy, wet cock. He’s panting when he comes off and Kuroo looks dazed. There’s a messy pool of cum at his pubes and it stains his zipper and pants, and that’s satisfying to see, the mess he’s made.

“Shit, I have to— I have to go.” 

Kuroo dazedly tosses his ruined pants away and grabs a used, wrinkled pair one on his way out.

Kuroo’s late to work. 

The skin on Kenma’s knees throb.

He smiles to himself.

»

Out of all of the chores, Kenma doesn’t mind folding the laundry. It’s repetitive enough that he can think about school or the games he still needs to finish. He starts the next load to tumble dry and heads to their bedroom with a basketful of warm socks and towels. 

He expects to find Kuroo in his sweatpants, reading a book or watching TV, since he actually has time off today, but the bed’s made and the bathroom door is closed. 

Kenma’s curious, but he sets down the basket and starts working on pulling out towels to fold. A few moments later, Kuroo tosses the door open, looking like he’s lost his wallet. His hair is perfectly tousled and he’s wearing jeans, the ugly ones with cheetah print. Kenma pauses, trying to remember if they have somewhere to be. 

“Where are you going?”

“I promised a few of my co-workers I’d stop by for their birthday party,” Kuroo mentions, opening the closet door.

“Oh,” Kenma says, unrolling one of the socks he’d just folded. “Let me get changed and I can go with you.” 

“Oh,” Kuroo echoes back, so surprised that it makes Kenma freeze. “I already told them— well I didn’t think you’d want to go.”

He exhales quietly, fingers squeezing the sock in his hand. “Why not?” 

“Parties aren’t really your thing, right?” Kuroo pulls out his favorite corduroy jacket.

It’s not untrue, but it makes Kenma pause for so long, he starts to think, _Maybe he doesn’t want you there._

“But I haven’t met your coworkers yet, and they’re important to you, right? So, I can go.” Kenma exhales. “Unless you don’t want me to go?”

“No, no, I do,” Kuroo promises and comes to kneel next to him, his big hand squeezing the top of Kenma’s hands. “I just thought maybe I could introduce you at lunch or something, since after work parties are so loud and they all like to drink, so they get rowdy.”

“Okay,” Kenma whispers, pinching his bottom lip. “I think I’ll be okay. I still want to go with you, if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay! Okay! Yeah, I’ll let them know.” Kuroo grins at him and plucks the pair of socks out of his fingertips. “They’re going to be so excited. I’ve told them a lot about you, you know? And Taka-kun is gay, too, and his partner comes by sometimes.”

Kenma nods, the frown in his brow not leaving. Kenma stares at the curve of Kuroo’s neck. It doesn’t go away even when Kuroo comes up to him, brushing back his bangs. “Just let me know when you want to go home, and we’ll go home, okay?” 

He relaxes, his brow easing and he turns to Kuroo, crowding in his space. “Okay.”

»

By the time they arrive at the doors of the karaoke room, there’s loud cheering and clapping that immediately drops Kenma’s stomach. Kuroo smiles wide and gives him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulders before they enter.

There’s 8 people already there, shoved around the square of a table, plates piled up with appetizers and finger foods and a few tambourines. They all yell out Kuroo’s name in a cacophonous wave and reshuffle to make room for them. They get sat next to two men that Kenma recognizes as Takashi and his partner, because Kuroo had shown him their social media in the car. 

Someone queues up the next song and warbles along to an old school Japanese ballad while Kuroo looks at the menu and orders for the both of them. Kenma can’t stop fidgeting with his hair, feeling curious eyes on him as Kuroo chats to Takashi over the music. Kenma unwraps the chopsticks when the waiter sets down his box. 

“I’m going to drink a little. Do you want anything?” Kuroo says, pressed close to him, his words vibrating against his cheek. Kenma shakes his head once. Kuroo orders a beer and the waiter leaves.

The lady with bright colored lipstick gives the two of them a look of amusement, her smile widening as Kuroo plucks the pickled plum out of his chopsticks and Kenma stares at the empty space, only the sticky residue left. 

“Kenma, you’re not going to eat your umeboshi?” the lady asks.

“‘Cause he doesn’t like it. He’s always been like that,” Kuroo answers for him with a laugh, and Kenma’s brow pinches as his friends titter with laughter.

Kenma opens his mouth to say that it’s not true. He doesn’t mind sour things or pickles anymore, really. But then, someone else jumps in and he flinches. 

“Wow, you really take care of him, don’t you, Kuroo?”

“Yeah, well I have to. It’s my job!” Kuroo crows with a laugh. “I’ve been taking care of him since I was a little kid.” 

“You’ve known each other for how long?”

“Since I was 8. I’m only a year older than him, so our parents threw us together. He used to get sick really easily, like after volleyball practice, so I’d bring an extra pocari sweat with me everywhere.” _Here we go_ , Kenma thinks. He’s heard this a handful of times now throughout his life, and normally, it’d be fine. Kuroo loves to retell stories and it’s endearing, if not a little annoying. Today, though, it’s just annoying. 

He plucks another plum quietly and takes a vicious bite. 

“Haha, like my daughter, then!” 

“He doesn’t get sick as often now, but I still take care of him.” Kuroo smirks smugly, his chest puffing out. Kenma just keeps chewing the pickled plum, the sourness cutting pleasantly into his taste-buds. “I cook meals and do the laundry as well.”

“I did the laundry today,” Kenma says but it only comes out as a whisper, blending into the twang of the ballad still going on. 

“How well rounded, Kuroo-san!” the tall, willowy man laughs.

“Isn’t he at home more often? Does he not know how to cook?” _I’m right here._

“Kenma works from home and is finishing school, so he’s actually busier than me. I don’t mind it though, since he almost burned down the house last time he tried cooking.” Kuroo cackles.

“That’s not true,” Kenma huffs, embarrassment coating the back of his throat.

“Aw, it’s okay, Kenma-kun. Takashi can’t cook either and I’m so busy with work that we do order out a lot. It’s good that you have Kuroo-san to cook for you.”

“I didn’t almost burn down the house. I just burnt a little bit of the meat and you didn’t complain that much. I cook for myself when you’re at work,” he snaps, setting down his chopsticks. He can feel frustration locking up his jaw— like when he gets stuck over and over on a level and can’t find his way out of. 

Kuroo glances at him, his arm tensing over Kenma’s shoulder. “Ah, that’s true. I’m probably exaggerating,” he gentles, trying to placate him. Kenma watches his panicked face, the way his eyes keep darting at the rest of the party, and thinks _fuck them_.

“You’re definitely exaggerating.” Kenma inhales. “I’m going to the restroom.”

He rolls up from his knees and leaves the room, the door clicking quietly behind him. It’s colder and quieter in the hallway, though the black light from the room extends into the rest of the hallway. It feels surreal to stand stark against the glow of purple and blue and the quiet hum of the air conditioning, his heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest. 

He feels drained. He wants to go home and lay under the kotatsu and play a rhythm game. He wants to sit on the porch with Kuroo and drink sake until it warms his belly and they start to talk about the dog running around the yard again.

He ends up dreading going back in for so long that Kuroo steps out and finds him with his back glued to the wall. 

“I thought I should come find you.”

His whole face feels red and heavy, like his ears are filling up with water. “I want to go home.”

Kuroo looks over his shoulder, back into the room and puts his hands on Kenma’s shoulders, walking the both of them back a few steps until Kenma digs his heels into the ground so stop them. “But we just got here. Sayuki still has to arrive and—”

Kenma cuts him off. “You said we could go home whenever.” 

“I know but—”

“I don’t care what you do, Kuro. I’m going home,” he bites, turning on his heel to head toward the exit. Kenma should offer to stay and smooth it over and finish his meal. Be a good boyfriend who can talk to these people about volleyball and their kids and their perfect little lives. Be someone who can fit in with them, who can change just the way Kuroo does. But Kenma can't change. Kenma is just Kenma.

Kuroo stops him by the crook of his elbow. “Are you seriously mad about what I said?” 

“What?”

“I know I was exaggerating, but it is true that I do all of those things,” Kuroo says, frowning.

Kenma shakes off his arm, his nose whistling when he exhales too sharply. “You made me sound like I’m a totally helpless toddler without you.”

“I _said_ that you were busy!”

“They were laughing at me!” Kenma grits his teeth, feeling humiliated all over again.

“They weren’t—”

“And they kept talking over me like I wasn’t even there! I’m not a child or a puppy. And— I don’t hate pickled plums anymore.” His mind’s races faster than his mouth can keep up with.

“What? What does that have to do with—”

“—I started liking them because you eat them so much. And I thought you knew that by now.” He knows he’s not making any sense and clicks his tongue at himself. “Just the way you said all those things is like— why are you trying to impress them so much?”

“I’m not,” Kuroo splutters.

“You are.”

Kuroo exhales, runs his hand through his hair in agitation. “They’re my coworkers and they want to know more about you so I thought it’d be better if I hammed it up a little, since it takes the pressure off you and you hate talking to new people,” he hisses, half over his shoulder as he looks into the small window pane to see if anyone’s heard them. Kenma imagines himself sliding on a gauntlet and punching through the glass to get everyone’s attention. There’s still just laughter and singing, so Kuroo turns back to him, brows knit.

“I don’t need you to do that. I know how to hold conversations. I’m not a fucking _baby._ ”

“I know that you’re not. But I like taking care of you. It’s not a bad thing. You like it, don’t you?”

“You’re so busy at work anyway, it’s not like you have time,” Kenma spits out and it seems to echo down the hallway. 

“Is this what that’s about? I told you that it’s only for a couple of weeks— and it’s important.”

“I know that, Kuro. I was just stating that you’re at work a lot, so you don’t really have time to take care of me the way you said in there, in front of all those people. I don’t _need_ you to talk for me. I don’t _need_ you to take care of me. I can take care of myself. You don’t need to be my mother. I already have one of my own, thanks.” Kenma freezes, regretting it as soon as it’s past his lips.

Kuroo braces himself against the wall, blinking at him in pain. It’s a low-blow and Kenma knows it. 

There’s a list of things that they don’t talk about: Kuroo’s knee, Kuroo’s sister, Kuroo’s mom.

Kenma averts his gaze.

“Okay,” Kuroo croaks. “So can we go home?” Kenma says, trying not to sound defensive, but the words come out jaggedly.

Kuroo’s eyes flicker. He opens his mouth to say something else before he deflates. “Yeah, just let me go say goodbye to them.” Kuroo puts a mask on, his face smoothing out before he ducks back into the room.

Kenma feels beyond tired and not any better now that he’s gotten all of it off his chest. He bites into the cuff of his sleeve, replaying it over and over again. He shouldn’t have said that, no matter how mad he is. But then, their laughter echoes down his spine and he gets a flare of anger again. Was he being unreasonable? It’s not like Kuroo was doing anything that much different than usual. 

Kuroo comes out and Kenma can’t look him in the eye for long. He’s so selfish. He’s being so selfish.

“Alright, let’s go.”

It doesn’t feel like a victory.

»

They get home and Kuroo goes to shower while he goes to hide in his gaming room. He should apologize for ruining the night, but a part of him wants Kuroo to know that he’s mad at him too. He’s never been mad at Kuroo before, not really. Was it that big of a deal? It spins in his head over and over again, like a screen trying to buffer. 

He decides to edit more video instead, clicking each frame, cutting and slicing out the boring parts. It’s tedious work and he gets lost in it enough that when he pulls off his headphones for a break, his ears ache. He should really apologize.

He glances at the clock. It’s almost 3 am and he sighs, sliding on his slippers to pad to their bedroom. The door is shut and the lights are off. Kuroo’s snoring gently. _Just wake him up and say you’re sorry._

He slides into bed and turns to face the expanse of Kuroo’s shoulders. “Kuro,” he says, too quietly that he doesn’t think it breaks above a whisper. His breathing is steady and there’s no point disturbing him now.

 _In the morning_ , Kenma thinks.

»

The apology never comes because the following day Kuroo gets pulled into work, and then Kenma has board meetings and interviews with new developers on the games he wants to produce through his company. It never gets brought back up again. Kuroo still kisses him in the morning before he leaves for work, so the apology dies.

Before they know it, Inuoka’s wedding is upon them. It starts off disastrously. 

>   
>  _Kenma: Where are you? ___
> 
> _Kuroo: I’m almost off the subway. Be there in 10._
> 
> ____

_  
___  
  


They have to rent a car because there's no time to stop home to borrow one from his parents. Kenma doesn't want to see them or hassle them or be questioned by his mom who might pick up on something.

____

The car rental place won’t let Kenma pick up the car because it’s not under his name and Kuroo’s late from staying the night in Meguro for work. Kenma’s used to being late to things, but it’s particularly stressful now because Inuoka’s ceremony starts at 6pm and they have to beat the traffic and make it by 5pm. Briefly, Kenma thinks, _I wish we were married_ , only because it would be more convenient, and he wouldn’t have to sit while the condescending steward continues to eye his ratty sweatpants suspiciously— as if Kenma's going to steal the dusty packets of mint gum from the front desk at any moment. 

____

Just convenience, and that’s it. 

____

“I’m here, I’m here,” Kuroo says frantically, dashing through the door. He looks like he slept in his dress shirt and his hair’s even more of a mess than usual. Kenma narrows his eyes at him. 

____

“I’ve already paid, he just wouldn’t let me have the car keys,” Kenma says, glaring at the sweaty little man who he hates. “We’re going to be late, probably.”

____

“We can make it if I drive fast enough.”

____

“I’d rather us get there safely than do that. We still have to check in at the hotel and you need to shower. You can blame it on me. No one expects me to be on time, anyway.” Kenma picks up his duffel bag off the ground. Kuroo swoops in to be chivalrous, but the strap gets caught on his arm and Kenma yelps when it pulls painfully at his shoulder. “Kuro.”

____

“Got it. Sorry, sorry,” Kuroo apologizes, avoiding his gaze. 

____

“It’s fine, Kuro,” he sighs, because Kuroo seems stressed and guilty and Kenma doesn’t want to argue about this right now when their friend is about to get married. 

____

By some miracle, they aren’t too terribly late, even though Kuroo insists on rinsing off in the shower before they dash to the ceremony. When they slip into their reserved seats, all of the groomsmen and bridesmaids are already at the front of the archway. Moments later, the bride heads down the aisle, beautiful in her western gown. Inuoka’s eyes shimmer and Kenma lets himself relax, because they made it just in time. He smiles to himself, feeling the warm press of Kuroo’s arm against his. 

____

When the reception starts, Yaku bounds directly for Kuroo, doing a quick punch to his gut with a _You bastard! Did you actually get taller, you fucking giant?_ and they break away from the rest of Nekoma to catch up. 

____

Champagne is something that Kenma needs to have more of, he decides sometime later, leaning against Tora’s shoulder. 

____

“Kenma! You’re really getting into the spirit of things, huh? That’s what I’m talking about!” Tora shouts in his ear, but he doesn’t mind. He snorts, smiling. The champagne bubbles make his fingers tingle.

____

“Yeah, just didn’t want to think today,” he says, lifting his head like it weighs a ton. Tora tilts his head at him and opens his mouth to say something, but Kenma turns his gaze away. He frowns, sweeping his gaze across the room until it lands on Kuroo’s waist, tucked neatly into his three-piece suit that he’s been favoring lately. It looks great on him, of course. He’s still chatting at the bar with Yaku, who’d flown in yesterday and has to leave early in the morning. Why are their friends so international? Why couldn’t everyone just have stayed here. Would have been nice, to have things stay the same. 

____

He keeps watching and Kuroo leans heavily on one hip, and when he turns, taking a step toward Yaku, Kenma can see it clear as day. He’s limping. The car ride must have been too long and Kenma can’t remember if they packed his painkillers or not.

____

He stands up, heading to Kuroo in a wobble that briefly gets interrupted by a conga line. He doesn’t get dragged into it, too determined to get his hands on Kuroo. He bumps unsteadily against his back, his hand tugging at the tie at the back of his vest. 

____

Kuroo stops whatever he’s saying to Yaku to turn to him, his eyes warm and smile soft when he looks down fondly at him. Kenma smiles back, slowly, heart tugging because things are okay. They’re okay. He pushes his face between Kuroo’s shoulder blades. 

____

“Kuro,” he starts, wanting to ask about how the pain is, but then Yaku cuts in, unmooring his train of thought.

____

“Kenma! We were just talking about you,” Yaku slurs. He has a healthy flush on his cheeks and Kenma gives him a quizzical look. 

____

“Only good things,” Kuroo assures, which means that Kuroo has said some embarrassing things.

____

“Only _disgustingly sappy_ things. It was worse than listening to Inuoka cry through his vow. So when are you two tying the knot?” Yaku raises an expectant brow. Kenma feels Kuroo tense before he lets out a short laugh that jostles Kenma. 

____

“Kenma’s still in school,” Kuroo starts as Kenma brushes his nose against the material of Kuroo’s shirt. 

____

“And Kuroo has this whole plan that’s important to him, so we haven’t talked about it,” Kenma finishes, plainly. 

____

“Yeah.” Kuroo clears his throat.

____

“Well, whatever! You better invite me to it. Me as your best man, of course!” Yaku says, patting Kuroo’s shoulder. Yaku gets dragged away by Lev into doing shots, so it’s just him and Kuroo. Kenma leans his whole weight into him, holding him tight around his middle.

____

“Aren’t you going to ask me to dance?” he asks. 

____

Kuroo turns in his arms and bends down to be in Kenma’s space. He smells good and Kenma buries deeper into his chest, his hands looping around the strap of Kuroo’s vest. 

____

“I didn’t think that you’d want to.”

____

“I don’t. But it doesn’t matter, because you want to and I wanted you to ask me anyway. It’s usually a whole thing, but you always knew… you always know when to make things I don’t want to do fun. You always know how to make it comfortable, because I’m bad at trying things— because I hate looking stupid.”

____

“Let me guess, because _I_ always look stupid anyway?” he grins toothily, juts his chin out in bravado. 

____

“No, because you— you’re better at pretending you don’t care. You have all of these parts. These cards. I just have one deck,” Kenma says with a little giggle. He can’t keep up, is what he’s realizing. Kuroo’s giving him a strange look, his hands tightening around Kenma’s waist.

____

“Maybe we should go back to the room instead. We can dance next time.” Maybe he messed it up again. Oops. He seems to be doing that a lot lately.

____

“That’s a good idea. Your pain medicine is in the side pocket, I think.”

____

Kuroo’s back straightens imperceptibly. “I don’t need it. I’m fine.” 

____

They go back to the hotel room, hand in hand. Kenma squeezes his fingers when Kuroo tries not to limp. 

____

“Does it hurt?” he asks openly, now that they’re alone.

____

“It’s fine,” Kuroo repeats himself, glancing at Kenma to drop it, so he drops it.

____

“That was nice,” Kenma mumbles instead, gripping Kuroo’s hand tighter in apology.

____

“It was. I wish we could stay down here with everyone for the weekend.”

____

Kenma hums in response. Kuroo gets the door open and as soon as they’re through, Kenma clumsily strips out of his uncomfortable suit. He pulls on a big hoodie and starfishes out onto the bed. 

____

Kuroo loosens his tie and undoes his waistcoat. Kenma thinks about the champagne bubbling in his veins and he giggles a little, enough to get Kuroo’s attention. 

____

“What?” Kuroo asks, curious and amused. 

____

“Just weird that Inuoka’s married and will have kids soon. We’re all growing up. It feels like it was just last year that we were all in the gym playing volleyball together.”

____

“You’re very nostalgic right now,” Kuroo muses. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed and reaches over to squeeze Kenma’s sock-clad foot. Maybe he is. Maybe he’s just scared to keep going forward. 

____

Kuroo takes off his belt and climbs over to kiss his cheek and his jaw that’s getting softer over time.

____

They kiss languidly, unhurried, and Kenma melts against him, letting Kuroo crowd over him like a big, solid blanket. He shudders when Kuroo licks his teeth and slides their tongues together. It gets hotter, their wet kissing sounds filling up the room. Kuroo pulls apart and Kenma chases him, eyes half-lidded as he cups Kuroo’s jaw and kisses the corner of his mouth, down his chin. He gasps when Kuroo reaches up his hoodie, thumb grazing his nipple. Kenma keens at the pleasure rocketing down his spine, hips jolting up at the same time that Kuroo rolls down to rock against him. A high moan escapes him. “Kuro,” Kenma sighs, his fingers twining into Kuroo’s softly-styled locks. The way Kuroo looks at him makes him lose his breath, makes him want to run away, sometimes, but right now, he lets Kuroo see him.

____

“Kenma,” Kuroo utters, kissing hotly down his neck, his hand splaying over Kenma’s tummy. 

____

Kuroo’s phone buzzes right next to Kenma’s ear and they both pause. _Don’t_ , Kenma thinks. Kuroo swallows, keeps kissing him until Kenma relaxes again. Kenma clings to him tighter, presses his hips hurriedly against Kuroo and earns a moan that’s louder than the phone still vibrating next to his head. The phone goes silent and he smiles wide, pleased. Kenma surges up, kissing open-mouthed, shivering when Kuroo’s tongue slides against his and kisses him breathless. It feels so good, under Kuroo. He feels safe and so turned on he can’t help from all of his want spilling out of him. Rubs needily until his breath is punched out of him when Kuroo rocks against him over and over again—

____

The phone rings again. His eyes locked on Kuroo, who tenses again. His jaw locks when Kuroo exhales through his nose. 

____

“It’ll be quick, I promise,” he says, pecking Kenma’s forehead like a consolation prize. The fire in the pit of Kenma’s stomach extinguishes. He stares at the hotel ceiling for a while as Kuroo talks quickly into the phone.

____

Kenma rolls off the bed and the world tilts off-scale. He’s still tipsy and unmoored.

____

Maybe fresh air. 

____

Kenma goes out onto the balcony and leans against the rail so the disappointment doesn’t completely cave in his chest.

____

The crickets outside have quieted, but it’s nice outside. The stars and moon dim behind clouds. He listens to Kuroo speaking on the phone and there’s a strange, unfamiliar burn at the back of his throat that extends up his nasal passage and up to his eyes. He’s crying, he realizes a little too late. Tears well and he holds them back, face scrunched in annoyance at himself. He hastily wipes the few tears with the back of his hand. _You’re just drunk. Stop it, Kenma._ It isn’t as if Kuroo’s gone anywhere. He’s right there, so why is he upset? 

____

Kuroo comes to join him, maybe ten minutes later. Kenma’s nose is cold and he’s shivering by the time Kuroo’s arm presses against him.

____

“Let’s go somewhere,” Kuroo says, finally.

____

“Where?” Kenma asks?

____

“Anywhere you want.”

____

“I don’t really want to go anywhere,” he says, unable to hide how resigned he feels. He wants to be home, with Kuroo home, too. 

____

“I just think— I think it’d be good to just get away for a few days. Just you and me. I’ll turn off my phone, I promise,” he says. It stings sharply. Kenma knows that he’s just trying to placate him. He’s trying, Kenma reminds himself. He soothes his thumb on the edge of his worn sleeve cuff.

____

“Anything you want,” Kuroo coaxes in his softest voice and Kenma is lulled into it like a spell. 

____

“Okay.”

____

»

____

Kenma wakes up with a bad feeling in his stomach, like the beginning of a cold, but just the feeling of it, unexplainable. 

____

“Come on, it’s already noon,” Kuroo says, tickling the bottom of his feet until Kenma curls in on himself like a pillbug. The bad feeling continues, niggling his insides and he peeks at Kuroo as he talks. “I have all of these plans, and we’re going to be late if you don’t get up!”

____

As promised, Kuroo turns off his phone, makes a big parade of it like he’s a game show host and slides it into the back of his pocket. Kenma rolls his eyes, but he’s pleased that he gets to have Kuroo for himself today. He hadn’t asked for anything special, hadn’t wanted to go anywhere beyond their little square in Tokyo. They’d both been meaning to try the little udon shop that’s only a 15-minute walk from their house. 

____

“No plans,” Kenma says to Kuroo, kissing the corner of his mouth. He’s a little too tired for plans. “Just udon.”

____

It’s a blustery day out, and despite tying his hair back into a tight ponytail, his bangs and the bits of hair not quite long enough to fit under the hairband fall loose and whip in his face. Kuroo keeps smirking at him, bumping shoulders along the way. When a leaf flies and smacks him in the face, Kuroo crows with laughter and Kenma jabs Kuroo in the stomach hard enough that it makes him double over. 

____

They get udon, Kuroo ordering extra vegetables that he piles on to Kenma’s bowl until he scowls at him to stop. He’s full of noodles and broth, and feels sleepy and happy to be here with Kuroo. 

____

“Kuro,” Kenma says on their stroll back home, reluctant to go back and end the date. Maybe he should tell Kuroo they can go to the aquarium too, or do whatever it is Kuroo wanted to do originally. 

____

“Hm?” Kuroo asks, pausing when Kenma takes his hand and ducks under his arm to huddle closer to him. Kuroo huffs a quiet, fond laugh, and Kenma doesn’t look him in the eye even when Kuroo hugs him closer. 

____

“When… when you have your next day off, we should actually go somewhere.”

____

“Where do you want to go?” The corner of Kuroo’s mouth curls up when Kenma peeks up at him, and he sees the switch in Kuroo’s brain as he thinks about possible futures. “Maybe to Kyushu to an onsen?” 

____

“I was thinking somewhere out of the country, maybe? We could visit Shouyou.” Though he’ll really have to work up the courage to get on a plane. He thinks it’d be nice, though, to get out of Japan.

____

“What, you don’t want to go visit Yaku? He’ll be so hurt!”

____

“Russia is way too cold for me.” Kenma shakes his head, shivering just from imagining himself there. 

____

Kuroo thinks about it, his eyes lighting up, already thinking up plans for things to do. “Brazil would be nice. Yeah.” Kenma presses closer to him, closing his eyes as he listens. Kuroo guides them safely past their konbini where the grocer’s re-stocking oranges outside. “We could go see all the touristy stuff, but Hinata must know some good local spots to eat at. And since we’re already going to be in South America, we might as well travel a lot. We could hit up other places too, like the Salt Flats in Bolivia or Machu Picchu,” Kuroo says, digging his keys out of his pocket.

____

“Kuroo-san!” 

____

Kenma’s eyes open and he turns to look at a middle-aged man sitting on the hood of a sedan. He’s wearing a familiar red JVA tie. The man pushes off of the car, his hands wringing a piece of paper. He looks wind-chapped, hair ruffled. Kenma’s stomach drops.

____

“Matsuo-san,” Kuroo says in surprise, pulling his arm off of Kenma so he can step forward and bow.

____

“I’m so sorry to bother you on your day off. It’s a little urgent and your phone was off, so I was sent here to see if I could find you,” Matsuo-san speaks quickly, his eyes glances briefly at Kenma in apology. He has a slight sheen on his forehead and he wipes it with his pocket square.

____

“No, that’s alright. What is it?”

____

“Shimamoto quit this morning.”

__“What?” Kuroo tenses in shock._ _

____

“Well, he quit before we could fire him— this is off the record, but there’s been a real scandal that I’ll explain more later. But, we could really use your help. We have to fill the position quickly. I vouched for you to the president because we all see how hard you work and how many ideas you have,” he pauses, stepping forward to place a hand on Kuroo’s arm. “You’ll be traveling a lot more for it, but I just think you’re the perfect fit to take on the head of the sponsorship department! It’s going to be a lot of work, but it’ll be better pay to compensate. I’m very confident in you, Kuroo-kun. You’re really the perfect fit for us, so please consider it.” Matsuo-san bows deeply to him. “I have to get back to the office, but I just wanted to give you an advanced warning since you’ll be asked to give your decision first thing tomorrow.” 

____

“Ah, thank you, Matsuo-san. I’ll think carefully about it,” Kuroo replies, a little dazedly before he remembers to bow back. 

____

They watch Matsuo drive off, down their empty neighborhood street. Kenma stares at Kuroo’s back as he unlocks the gate and they enter one by one down the gravel path to the porch.

____

“So, what are we going to do next?” Kuroo asks, his fake, cheerful tone jarring Kenma out of his thoughts. 

____

He swallows, stopping at the front of the gate. “Kuro. Don’t.” 

____

“The day isn’t over yet. We could— we could watch whatever you want. Or maybe—” 

____

“—It is over.” And Kenma hates that more than anything, the over-awareness of how things have changed— how they both know it. It was over the moment Kuroo saw Matsuo-san. It was over, before that. Their possible futures of a warm tropical sun shifting and swaying like a leaf in a strong breeze toward Kuroo’s bright future. Kuroo still hasn’t turned around, his back a tense line. “It’s your plan, isn’t it? The one that’s important to you,” Kenma says, softly. The one that he’s not even sure that he’s a part of. 

____

Kuroo doesn’t say anything. “So are you going to take it?” 

____

Kuroo sighs, shoulders dropping. He turns on his heel to meet Kenma’s gaze, mouth a grim line.

____

“I don’t know yet.” But Kenma knows that face, knows that voice, knows Kuroo better than he knows himself. He’s going to take it. He’s holding his determination in his curled up fist and in the minute clench of his jaw— the weak side that locks. Kenma wants to throw up all of the udon he’s just eaten.

____

What can he say? It’s what Kuroo’s been working toward, but. But what?

____

“What do you think?” Kuroo’s voice is soft and he looks concerned. 

____

“I think that you’ve already made up your mind, Kuro.” Kenma can’t bring himself to smile.

____

»

____

There’s nothing that sets him off in particular.

____

It’s just another day.

____

He comes home from classes, sets his shoes in the negative space of Kuroo’s work shoes, sets his bag down on the bench, still warm from the sun coming into the window. In the corner by the door, there’s a cobweb, its thin, delicate web shining under the afternoon sun. The fading light swirls dust he’ll never completely be able to get rid of because this house is too big, too empty, too quiet. 

____

This house is beautiful.

____

But he never wanted it. 

____

Kenma stopped saying, _I’m home_ a long time ago. 

____

There’s no dog here to greet him, no cat weaving between his legs, no one there to welcome him home. 

____

It’s just him, alone.

____

His footsteps, heavy with all of his sadness, make the old wooden floors creak. 

____

It’s unbearable, the loneliness.

____

He packs a duffle full of bones and hits call.

____

“Kenma!”

____

“Shouyou. Could I come stay with you?”

____


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t know,” Kenma responds, leaning forward until his mouth is covered by his forearms. 
> 
> “You should just talk to him.”
> 
> “You make it sound so simple.”
> 
> Shouyou cocks his head to the side. “Isn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is the final chapter. once again, this story would not be where it is without the love and care of my beta, tae. a lot went into this fic and i just hope that you enjoy. thank you for reading <3

“Morning!” Shouyou crows, his sneakers squeaking against the bright colored tile. It’s enough to wake Kenma from his sleep, the way it has for the past week and a half. He still can’t get used to it. 

“What time is it?” he mumbles, cracking one eye open.

“It’s 5 in the morning! We have to get up early to get to Christ the Redeemer.”

Kenma wrinkles his nose, because he’s not religious and it’s way too early. “Do we have to?”

Shouyou grins at him. “You’re only going to be in Brazil once, so yes!” 

Kenma closes his eyes and drops his head back onto his pillow in defeat.

The early morning is to catch a train from São Paulo to Rio De Janeiro, and then a bus through the packed city to a guide who walks them up a giant hill to Jesus’ ominous figure.

The air gets thinner the higher they go, and Kenma has to take several breaks because he’s out of shape and the elevation makes him light-headed. Shouyou pumps his fists when they make it to the foot of The Redeemer. He claps Kenma on the back and hands him his water bottle to share in victory.

It’s an off season for tourists, and he’s grateful that it’s just them and a few other people milling around. Kenma looks up at Jesus Christ and thinks it’s a little underwhelming, but at least the lookout across the lush greenery and the city below isn’t. He leans against the rail and thinks about all the facts Kuroo could probably come up with if he was here. 

It aches right at his ribs, thinking about him. 

Shouyou comes over to lean on the ledge next to him, letting out a long, excited sound. “It’s beautiful up here! You can see the whole city, right, Kenma-kun?”

“Yeah, it’s nice,” he sighs, trying to share in Shouyou’s enthusiasm, but falls flat. Shouyou gives him a look of pity, so he forces himself to try again, because it _is_ beautiful, the way the city looks below, so small and tightly packed. They traveled a long way to get here and he’s grateful that Shouyou brought him here after all.

They sit in silence for a long time. Shouyou’s arm is pressed against his, warmth comfortable against the cold. He wonders if Shouyou's meditating to himself and wishes he could do the same without his head filling with worst case scenarios the way it did when Shouyou convinced him to try it the other day. 

“What are you going to do when you get back?” Shouyou asks, his voice breaking Kenma out of his thoughts. When Kenma meets his gaze, Shouyou’s eyes are curious and probing. 

“I don’t know,” Kenma responds, leaning forward until his mouth is covered by his forearms. 

“You should just talk to him.”

“You make it sound so simple.” Shouyou cocks his head to the side. “Isn’t it?” 

It’s not— or at least in his head it isn’t. He doesn’t know where to begin. He doesn’t have a guidemap or a rulebook or a cheat code. When he landed in Brazil, the possibilities narrowed themselves down to one or two endings. What if the only ending he has now is one without Kuroo? 

“You asked me when I got here if I was hoping that he’d break up with me. But that’s not it. I was maybe… hoping he would chase after me,” Kenma admits, swallowing around his own foolishness. “And he hasn’t and he won’t and it’s so— stupid that I feel disappointed over it when it wasn’t a good plan in the first place. And now, if we talk— if we talk and there’s nothing to talk about, then I would rather stay in limbo forever. I would rather stay here, so that I can still keep him, in some way.” 

But he knows that isn’t realistic, that he doesn’t have any way out of this except through to the end. That thought leaves him breathless and terrified. Shouyou frowns and steps closer to Kenma, putting a hand on the curve of Kenma’s shoulder. “When I go back— What if things have changed too much? What if there’s no way to go back to how it was? What if he won't forgive me for this?”

“Forgive you for what?”

“For leaving him.”

Shouyou hums. “I don't see it that way. I don't think Kuroo-san would either. You don't do things without thinking first, so you had a good reason to come here.” 

“But it was— selfish. Self-preservation, maybe. I could tell he was leaving me behind, so I left before he could,” Kenma confesses, his throat burning. He was just tired. And alone.

“I don’t think being selfish is a bad thing.” Kenma lifts his head for that, eyebrows coming together. Shouyou still has an easy smile and he scratches at his scruff under his chin. “Just, don’t give up,” Shouyou says softly and squeezes his shoulder again. 

“But what if—”

“No, what-ifs, Kenma. Just call him so that he knows that you still love him.”

Those words tug something miserable in Kenma’s chest. “He knows.”

“Does he?” Shouyou tilts his head, his eyes terrifying. “Or are you guessing?”

Kenma feels like he’s been punched in the gut, his breath coming out in pants even though he hasn’t moved a single inch. 

“It’s just that you’re here, Kenma-kun. And he’s over there. You haven’t talked to him even once since you’ve been here. So does he know? Or do you just assume that he knows that you still love him?”

Kenma feels dizzy with the sun shining down on him now that the morning mist has cleared. There’s the bustle of tourists behind him and Shouyou next to him, but he doesn’t feel like he’s in his body. 

When was the last time he’s said it out loud? He can’t remember saying it, because it was so hard to say it to Kuroo’s broad back, always moving forward. _I just want to keep moving forward_ , he’d told Kenma a million times recently and all Kenma wants is for things to stay the same. 

“It’s not too late. I just think that if you love someone, that you should tell them as much as you think about them.” 

»

Nothing changed much after their first kiss. Except, Kuroo looks at him sometimes in a way that makes his stomach feel strange, makes his heart beat hummingbird fast. He presses a hand to his chest and tries to eat his breakfast of natto and tamagoyaki instead of thinking about Kuroo at all, but he’s largely unsuccessful.

They aren’t dating, though Kenma has a feeling that Kuroo wants to ask him out and Kenma wants him to ask. Maybe it’s unfair that he always wants Kuroo to make his moves first so that Kenma can find the pathways through each chess piece after. It narrows things down for him. The kiss was an outlier, something he didn’t even realize he was going to do until he was doing it. Now, he feels backed into a corner because of it— doing something before he was ready to face it. He picks up his feelings for Kuroo like a puzzle box, turns it over in his hands, poking and prodding the intricate pieces, the tiny locks on the inside that he has to figure out in sequential order. 

He’s glad that for now, nothing’s changed, but he worries what will happen next. He doesn’t know what to do. 

His mother’s mouth keeps upturning at the corner when she refills his tea and sits down to eat her own breakfast. 

“What is it, Kenma?” He glances up at her, still trying to untangle his thoughts and she waits patiently, taking a neat bite of her eggs.

“Kuro,” he starts, stirring his natto. “I think that next year, I’ll probably move in with him, instead of staying at home.” That has always been a part of their plan.

“Mm,” she hums, an unsurprised tone, taking a sip of her tea. “I thought you might. It’ll be more expensive, so work hard, okay?”

“When you moved in with… dad,” he asks, and her look softens, “were you worried?” It’s a quiet admission to something and he doesn’t look up at her. 

“I guess a little bit. I’d never lived with a man before,” she says, cupping her mug, her ring clinking against the cup. It’s a familiar sound. “We had to get used to each other in a new way, even though we had been dating since I was in high school.” 

“Wasn’t it scary?” 

“It was, but it was exciting, too. Besides, there are scarier things in this world than finding out your dad is obsessed with antiques,” she says with a small, fond smile. “And there were things about me that he had to find out too. And it’s fun, learning about each other and doing things together.” Kenma stares at her lips, curved up. She’s thinking about dad. 

There’s not much that Kuroo doesn’t know about him. Kuroo already knows him best, sometimes better than Kenma knows himself. He imagines that he can teleport to where Kuroo a few train stops away, probably doing his chemistry homework in his cramped little dorm, trying not to check his phone or text Kenma first, because he knows that Kenma’s still working his way through the maze of his own thoughts, to get to a conclusion. Kuroo is waiting for a signal from Kenma, to let him know that he’s ready.

Kenma’s scared of what’s to come, but he slides the lock of the puzzle box and knows that inside is just his heart, already safe in Kuroo’s hands. 

»

It’s a long trip back to Shouyou’s apartment, Kenma spends the entirety of it clutching his phone in a death grip. 

He should call Kuroo. He should explain himself. He should— but what if it’s too late? They haven’t spoken in almost two weeks.

Kuroo’s waiting for his signal.

»

Kenma has never been good at letting things go. 

Not old, broken gameboys he gets too attached to, not his stuffed toys with missing eyes and dirtied whiskers, not the volleyballs ripped up and scuffed with dirt. He still wears his high school joggers, even though there’s a tear through the knee that’s growing ever wider. He can’t throw things away and he can’t move on. He just isn’t built for it. 

That’s why he’ll never move on from Kuroo. He doesn’t _want_ to move on from Kuroo. He holds on to that thought like the weight of gold, holds it in the lining of his pockets when he hits dial.

“Kuro,” he gasps, voice thick with molasses.

“Hi.” 

Kenma closes his eyes. “Hi.”

“Is this… your call to tell me that you’re leaving me for Hinata?” Kuroo jokes, weak enough that it takes Kenma aback, his stomach lilting. He frets his lip, worried that Kuroo actually thinks that—but he can’t get ahead of himself. He takes a deep breath.

“No! No, I— should have called you earlier. I just needed—” He pauses, his throat stinging. _I needed you_. “I needed time.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo agrees. “I could have called you too, but I thought you wanted space.” Kenma can hear the wince in his voice. “How has it been?”

“It’s okay. Shouyou’s taken me to a lot of places.” He pauses again. “I didn’t want space. Not really,” Kenma adds. 

“I—” Kuroo inhales. 

It lulls into silence again.

“I’m sorry,” Kenma says softly, because he’s tired of hurting Kuroo.

“Kenma— please, don’t apologize. You didn’t— you haven’t done anything wrong. You shouldn’t have to— It was me. I’m the one who fucked everything up. I wouldn’t blame you, you know. If you decided to leave me and never come back. I’ve been a pretty crappy boyfriend. I know that I have.”

“I would never leave you, Kuro.” Though, he is in Brazil, so that’s not saying much. It goes quiet again and it’s so fucking hard to push through the anxiety solidifying in his chest, in his throat. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Kuroo answers, softly. That loosens his breath a little. 

“Okay.” Kenma bites his lip, pressing the heel of his palm into his eye. Why does this feel so hard? He digs a little too deep and listens to Kuroo clear his throat, the gentle sound of blinkers in the background. “Did I call you at a bad time? Are you driving?”

“Ah, yes I am. But no, it’s fine. I’m just heading home.”

Home and not a hotel. Kenma unfurls his palm and checks the date on his phone, because he’s not even sure what day it is today. It’s Sunday. “Were you working? Um, maybe call me back when you’re home? Please?” He hates the way his voice sounds when he pleads. 

“I’m almost home, though— it’s fine.”

“Okay, but I would feel better if you weren’t driving.”

“I— just don’t want to stop hearing your voice, though,” Kuroo says softly. “I promise, I’m being safe. I’m almost home. Turning the main street now.” 

He knows he’s going to have to concede, because he doesn’t really want to hang up either.

Kuroo inhales audibly, holds his breath and exhales. “I wasn’t working, by the way.”

“Oh,” his eyebrows rise. “Where were you?”

“Um. I’m seeing a therapist.”

Kenma blinks a few times, gripping the cold metal railing of Shouyou’s balcony. He’s confused, brows tilting inward. Maybe the rain has made the pain flare up again. “For your knee?”

“No, just for me.” A long pause. Then Kuro laughs, though it sounds strained. “A lot more is fucked up with me than just my knee. My knee was just an excuse.” 

“Kuro,” he says, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. 

“Her name is Dr. Igarashi. I started seeing her a week and a half ago and she’s asked me to, um, come in every day since then. My work… they asked me to take off for a little bit. Because the day I came home and you were on a plane to Brazil, I didn’t handle myself very well and tried to go right back to work, even after a 14-hour day. And— maybe I smelled like booze when I did. I think my boss could tell that I wasn’t in a good place, so he sent me home on paid leave.” Kuroo lets out another strained laugh, and Kenma can see the empty smile he must have without even being there. “It’s just hard to… convince myself that—I think… I’ve lived my life trying to make sure that you weren’t going to leave me.” He clears his throat. “And I know that it’s not really working the way I thought it was.”

Kenma opens his mouth to say something— because it’s a lot and Kenma wants to know if it’s his fault, if he’s contributed in a negative way this whole time or if he served as a catalyst. All of the anxiety-laced words make it to the tip of his tongue before he bites down, so he can listen.

“My plan was— you know how much I love plans,” Kuroo chuckles, bitterly. “My plan was that I would go into the V league, and when that didn’t happen I had to change quickly. I had to keep going and work harder to not be a burden on you.”

“Kuro,” he finally says, feeling okay to cut in, even though he’s reeling with everything, his pulse quickening. “Was there something I did? That made you think that? I would never— _never—_ think you’re a burden.” 

“No, it’s just— you’re doing really well, you know? And I’m so fucking proud of you, every day. I wanted to work hard too, so that I wasn’t left behind. Y’know what I’ve figured out since I started with therapy? That… it started with my mom, probably. Definitely. She’s why I can’t get rid of those brain cells that have adapted to tell me that you’re going to abandon me if I don’t do my best— if i’m not working hard enough to… earn my spot by your side. I wanted to prove to you and everyone else that I was fine. That I could handle this big job that I thought you’d be proud of me for. I wanted to prove to myself that I was fine too. And instead of keeping you, I lost sight of why I was even doing it. When I came home and you were just gone… and all I had left was this job…” Kuroo swallows. “You’re the most important thing to me— the only person that matters, and I pushed you out the door. You were right to have gone.”

Kenma’s breath hitches, and he squeezes his palm tighter against the metal railing. He wishes he was there with him to wrap his arms around Kuroo’s big frame, to hold his head to his chest. He misses him, so terribly. He has so many things he wants to say that they tangle themselves like a cat’s cradle inside of his head. His brows furrow together. “The weather here is nice,” Kenma says, finally, and it’s not at all what he wants to say— but it’s easier right now, as a way to measure how strongly he can get his words to come out. 

“That’s good. Hinata is good?”

“He is. It’s been… okay.” The wind picks up and Kenma inhales. “I was lonely. I was really lonely.”

Kuroo swallows audibly. “I know. I’m sorry. I know.”

Kenma knows that he is. He closes his eyes, imagines himself back home, the tatami beneath his feet. He can feel tears prickling the corner of his eyes. “I didn’t know what else to do— I didn’t know how to tell you,” he says quietly, his tears sliding down his cheeks now. 

“Kenma, fuck. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. I— get it. It’s okay. I love you.” 

“You love me...but.”

“No. No, buts. I love you. I haven’t been saying it enough, if I couldn’t help you feel secure. I should say it more. That’s what Shouyou told me. That I should tell you as much as I think about you,” Kenma says, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Thought he was supposed to be a dumb volleyball player.” Kuro does a little huffed laugh at that. His voice sounds frail. “How much do you think about me?” 

He’s always thinking about him. “Not… every second, but close to that.” Kenma lets out a laugh, feeling lighter. “Kuro,” he adds, urgently. “I love you. I am in love with you. I don’t want you to think that I would ever be anything but in love with you— I’m not brave, like you. I’m so scared that things will change, but they’ve already changed. It’s just that I forget that it doesn’t matter, because no matter how much they change— the way I love you won’t.”

Kuroo inhales sharply. “I’m in love with you, too.” His voice breaks on the end, and Kenma knows. He knows and he feels silly for thinking that Kuroo would ever leave him behind, with his heart cupped in his hands. “Will you forgive me?” 

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he says, honestly. He had his hand in making a mess of things too, and it’s scary, thinking about how far apart they are. He opens his eyes, dizzy at how small he feels on the planet, how untethered he is under a beautiful, blue sky. The only thing that has ever made sense to him is Kuroo. 

“I’m coming home.”

»

The plane ride is no better coming back to Japan. This time, he does force himself to look out the window to see what Japan is like from above, just a green smudge through flittering clouds. The air is thin and he feels like he’s holding his breath all the way from Brazil to Japan.

He rolls his suitcase down the ramp when he spots Kuroo’s messy hair, far above the other people waiting and he follows it like an exit sign. He comes to a stop in front of an elderly couple, who are standing in front of Kuroo. He’s too polite to ask them to move. 

“Hey, how was your flight?” Kuroo asks above their heads.

“It was okay,” Kenma says, leaning back on his heels as Kuroo takes initiative to sidestep the couple. 

And there he is. He’s in an old sweatshirt, ripped skinny jeans and sneakers. He looks so tired, but he smiles at Kenma anyway and Kenma can’t stop staring at him. His hands tremble as he stands close enough to touch. Every single cell of him has missed Kuroo so much.

Kuroo places a tentative hand on Kenma’s shoulder and Kenma tenses for a moment to soak in the warmth before he relaxes. He feels exhausted, suddenly, so he lets Kuroo guide him through the crowds like a fast forward button. They get into the car that Kuroo’s work had provided him last year when he got his raise and promotion. Kenma bites the inside of his cheek as Kuroo closes the trunk and climbs in. 

The drive is quiet and tense. Kenma accidentally falls asleep from a combo of jetlag, dread of seeing the house, and the general excruciating anxiety of being next to Kuroo and not knowing what to say. His body and brain helpfully shut down as a failsafe, and by the time he’s shaken awake, they’re home.

Kuroo helps with his bags, and when Kenma reaches the gate, something clangs against the iron and wood, startling Kenma so badly that he falls back on his ass. Kuroo curses, abandoning his luggage to help him back up to his feet.

“What was that?” Kenma asks.

“Ah. That.” Kuroo curses again, bounding for the gate. He swings open the gate to reveal a golden blur. Kenma’s knocked down again by a huge dog, all fluff and puppy paws. He’s assaulted by a wet nose and an even wetter tongue and it tickles. Kenma wiggles helplessly, laughter spilling out. 

“No! Bad dog!” Kuroo scrambles to pull the puppy off of him. Kenma lays there for a moment, panting.

“You got a dog.”

“I did.”

“I was gone for two weeks.”

“Yeah. My therapist— suggested that it’d be good for me and there was a dog up for adoption when I looked. He’s still a puppy, but he’ll be a good dog for, um, my anxiety. Once he’s trained.” Kenma looks at Kuroo, who’s rumpled and tired and anxious. He shifts from foot to foot, gripping the leash tightly. He’s so nervous that Kenma can feel it from here. 

The dog whines again, seeming to notice Kuroo’s distress. Kuroo reaches down to pet through the scruff around its neck, comforting himself and Kenma watches curiously.

He’s cute, Kenma thinks. His eyes are big and brown. “Have you named him?”

“Elric,” Kuroo says, looking embarrassed. Kenma just breaks out into a surprised laugh that has Kuroo staring at him. But then again, Kuroo is always looking at him. He lets himself look back, takes a deep breath and brushes his bangs out of his face to take him in, all of him. 

At first, he thinks that this is a side of Kuroo he doesn’t know— and that’s a scary thought. Did Kuroo change that much in the short time they were apart? Or had he been changing, evolving without Kenma noticing at all? He makes himself keep looking until he can see the flashes of the eight year old boy clutching his dad’s pants— and Kenma loves him. Kuroo shifts on his foot again and he sees the Kuroo who thought he was broken, sadness tucked in the corner of his mouth that Kenma had to kiss away— and Kenma loves him. Kuroo lost in the hospital, Kuroo content on their porch, Kuroo leaving him lonely again, all piecing themselves together. If he doesn’t know this side of Kuroo, he will. There isn’t a cell of him, a single atom that Kenma will not love. Past, present, and future— Kenma loves him. He loves him, he loves him, he loves him.

“It’s a good name,” Kenma exhales, sitting up. He extends his hand out and Kuroo helps him up and Kenma shifts, throwing his arms around Kuroo’s waist, clutching at them until their fronts are pressed together. “I missed you,” he rasps out, the words catching on the way out. So he tries again. “I missed you. I missed you.” 

Kuroo pauses for half of a breath, too long, before he wraps his arms around Kenma’s shoulders and pulls him in tighter, until Kenma’s ribs hurt just right. His big hand cups the back of his head and Kenma closes his eyes, his tears pooling at his lash line. “No more making plans without me. We’ll make them together, okay?” he mumbles into the cotton of Kuroo’s shirt. 

“Okay.” Kuro’s words have an uncertain shake to them. 

“Do you promise?” Kenma pulls back, frown set in his brow as he wipes his face with his sleeve. 

“I promise,” Kuroo says softly, fingertips brushing back Kenma’s bangs, his eyes warm and familiar, shiny with tears. Kenma closes his eyes, tilting his face up and lets himself feel Kuroo’s thumb wipe at his stray tears. 

The puppy whines and it breaks Kenma out of the moment, its tail wagging as it looks between Kuroo and Kenma. He laughs again, wiping his face with his sleeve and takes a half a step back from Kuroo so he can open his arms. He nods to Kuroo, so he releases his grip on the leash. Kenma’s ready for impact this time, and he hugs Elric’s neck tightly, gratefully and thinks _thank you for taking care of him while I was away. I’m here now and we’re going to be okay._

He really does believe it this time.

»»»»»»

 _Next stop, Shibuya_ , the soft female voice chimes pleasantly overhead. Kenma clutches tighter to the pole with his arm and checks his phone calendar first to see how many meetings he has left. He wishes he hadn’t stacked his entire day full, but he wanted his Saturday and Sunday free. 

He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t feel the tug at his elbow or the embarrassed voice until the third time. He looks up at a familiar-looking woman with blunt bangs and a willowy figure.

“Sorry to bother you. Are you Kenma?”

“Yes,” he says slowly, still trying to place her.

“We met before at karaoke. I’m one of Kuroo-kun’s coworkers. Or, I was.” She tucks a strand of her hair back. Oh. She looks different in the morning and with her lips painted a soft pink.

“I just wanted to say that I’d been embarrassed over how I acted that night for a while now, so I’m glad I got a chance to see you to apologize.” She holds her body taut and he can tell how important it is for her to be heard. Kenma hides his surprise, turning to face her fully, to give her a chance. 

“That’s alright. It was a long time ago.” Kenma gives her a little nod for her to continue.

She nods back, exhaling gratefully. “I could tell you were upset by all of our insensitive comments anyway. I just wanted you to know that we were probably over-eager to learn about you since you’re all Kuroo ever talked about.” She laughs. “But I am sorry.”

Kenma shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. It’s not something that he’s had to think about in a long time. “It wasn’t just you, I promise. There was a lot going on back then. I appreciate the apology, but please don’t worry.” It’s a testament to how time remedies even the bluntest of blows. It’s never easy remembering just how deeply they’d hurt each other back then, no matter how unintentional it had been, but there’s not more sting to it.

“I hope he’s doing well,” she says. 

“He is.” Kenma smiles softly, proudly. “He likes his new job a lot.”

“That’s good. He seems like he’d be good with kids. When my son is old enough, I’d like to send him your way— remind me of the name of it again?”

“It’s called Lower the Net.” 

The train comes to a stop and they say their goodbyes. Kenma watches her back as she weaves between people until she disappears in the stream. It feels like a long time ago since that conversation in a blacklight hallway. It’s such a small thing now, but it’d felt like he would never be able to reach Kuroo ever again. He thinks about it all the way to the skyscrapers lining the sky and even after the flurry of meetings.

“Kenma!”

Kenma looks up, his bangs untucking from the sudden movement. Kuroo lifts a hand, his eyes never pulling away from Kenma’s and he feels drawn toward him, like a magnet. Kenma has a Nekoma hoodie thrown over his nicer dress clothes. He looks and feels like a mess, but Kuroo looks at him across like he’s something special anyway. 

Elric’s sitting faithfully beside him. He’s fully grown now, sitting calmly the way he’s been trained to, though Kenma can tell he’s excited to see him by the minute wiggle in his butt. He heads over to them, bending down to pet Elric’s shaggy head.

“What are we eating?” Kenma asks, pressing himself against Kuroo’s side as they enter the restaurant. 

Kenma orders something new to try and something old. His tastebuds have changed, you see. He tells Kuroo this, who smiles softly at him. Kuroo watches him try the orange sauce lining the shrimp. It’s not bad, Kenma tells him, and Kuroo breaks out into a wider smile. Kenma eats both umeboshi and tells Kuroo about his old coworker on the subway. Kuroo listens, their fingers tangled under the table. 

»

Japan is cold, on the cusp of spring. He wakes up to the smell of jasmine tea, to the sound of leaves rustling against the stone, to the patter of Elric’s claws on the old wooden floors.

He wakes up warm. Held. Loved. 

»

Ligaments can tear. 

Bones can break. 

Skin can cut and heal a little darker than before, a little more marred. But new cells will form when old cells die— will adapt. 

Kenma thinks relationships are a lot like that too. 

Only— his love for Kuro is bigger than cells, bones, bodies, and will outlast even him.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/go2ghost)


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